


Fluff 2: Return of the Fluff

by Jassy



Series: Fluffverse [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gender or Sex Swap, Genderfluid, I did my own thing with the other witchers, M/M, Shapeshifting, no beta we die like men, some emotional constipation here but it's geralt so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:16:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23416597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy
Summary: Autumn is drawing to a close and it's time for Geralt and Jaskier to return to Kaer Morhen. Jaskier has shapeshifting to learn and Geralt has a Child Surprise to help raise.But it's these two, so it's never quite as smooth sailing as they could want.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Fluffverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684402
Comments: 33
Kudos: 237





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I haven't left these two alone. They're my fluffy happy place right now, and I dip into the other super angsty fic that, if you haven't read it, just be warned it's not nice and no one is happy there, when i'm frustrated or irritable with the current confinement going on. So. That's got a slower pace, thankfully.
> 
> Hope everyone is staying safe and healthy and sane out there!

Geralt threw himself to the side, mentally swearing because he couldn’t afford the breath to swear out loud. He’d fought werewolves before, but this one was unusually cunning. He hadn’t been able to land more than a glancing blow during the entire encounter. If he didn’t get lucky soon, his potions would wear off, and he doubted the thing would give him the precious seconds needed to drink more. And without them, his speed and endurance would fade back to normal – and this thing would win. Jaskier would come searching for him at dawn and find his mutilated corpse.

Thoughts of his bard only spurred him on to newer efforts. He could _not_ leave Jaskier to fumble her way through the world, stricken by grief. He didn’t want her to have to take word back to Ciri. He didn’t want either of them to grieve for him.

He launched himself up from the ground and ran with the werewolf hot on his heels. A low, sturdy looking branch was in front of him. With a grunt, he jumped up and grabbed it, letting his feet swing out in front of himself. The werewolf ran right under him, going too fast to stop in time. He pulled himself the rest of the way up, using the branch as a partial shield as it turned and leapt for him. He thrust his sword as its claws made contact with his thigh. It howled its pain as blood began to gush from the rents down his leg.

Geralt followed the thing down, landing on top of it and driving his sword deeper into its chest. He twisted the blade, widening the wound, increasing the agony. It thrashed. As hard as he could, he wrenched the blade upwards, slicing through bone and sinew, until the blade swung free out if its shoulder. He brought the blade around and through, finally severing the head from the body.

“Fuck.” He staggered back from the corpse until he fetched up against the trunk of the tree and slid down, both hands going to his thigh. The claw marks were deep. He was already starting to feel lightheaded. He dipped a hand into the pouch at his waist and dug around. Thankfully, none of them had broken. On a less positive note, downing another while still under the influence of Cat and Blizzard was going to make him extremely sick, but better sick than bled out. He drank the Swallow and let the empty vial fall in favor of putting both hands back on the claw marks. Within moments, he could feel the blood slow to a trickle. He held out a few moments more before the toxicity forced him to drop into a meditative trance.

Next he knew, a familiar if rather frantic voice was muttering in his ear. “Gods damn it, I knew this wasn’t going to go well. Stubborn damn witcher, couldn’t wait one more night when the damned thing wouldn’t have been as strong. You better not die on me, Geralt. We had a plan, remember? Remember the plan? Go back to Kaer Morhen where your crazy witch ex is so I can practice shapeshifting and get my cock back? Remember that bit? I swear, if you die on me, I will tell the whole continent that you got drunk and fell down and hit your head. In a pig sty! Is that what you want? You want the continent to think it wasn’t a monster but a drink that finally did the White Wolf in?”

Geralt cracked an eye and managed to capture one of the hands busily cleaning the blood from his leg. “I’m fine,” he tried.

“ _You are not fine!”_ Jaskier shrieked. “You are covered in blood, your leg is minced, and you’re still all with the eyes and the veins! It’s not supposed to last this long! Here, drink this.” She uncorked a vial and held it to his lips. He drank it and almost immediately felt better. “That’s the last of the White Honey,” she said, rather solemnly.

“That’s okay. I can make more.”

“Hmph.” Jaskier went back to cleaning his leg up. The claw marks had healed over, although they were by no means fully healed. There had been a _lot_ of damage for the potion to deal with. He was no longer gushing blood, but it would be days before the muscles were whole again, and possibly almost as long before his body regenerated the blood he’d lost. Though it wasn’t strictly necessary, Jaskier wound clean bandages around his leg once the worst of the blood was gone before setting herself under his shoulder and helping him to his feet. The world spun around him and his leg buckled, not yet ready to support his weight. Jaskier whistled and Roach came trotting up to them, head tossing when the scent of blood and werewolf reached her nose. But she held still well enough for Jaskier to get him up into the saddle. He slumped there while she took care of the gruesome task of bagging the head before grabbing the reins to lead Roach out of the woods and back to the town.

Slightly more alert, Geralt realized that it wasn’t that far from dawn. Jaskier must have set out before the sun had quite begun to rise, and he growled low in his chest.

“Shut up,” she snapped, correctly deducing his thoughts. “That’s why I brought Roach. You know she wouldn’t have gotten close if the werewolf were still alive, and I knew if you weren’t back already you were hurt.”

Geralt grunted acknowledgement. He didn’t like it, but she wasn’t wrong. Rascal would learn, but Roach was seasoned and probably had more sense than either he or Jaskier had – combined.

It was slow going back to town. If they tried to pick up the pace, Geralt would find himself swaying dangerously in the saddle, and he wanted to conserve as much energy as he could for when they got back. Vergen was a prosperous enough town, but the mayor that presided over it had been reluctant to hire him to begin with, even after more than a year of having a werewolf terrorize the town and the surrounding farms that the town depended upon for most of its food. In his weakened state, the man would likely try to short them on payment.

Jaskier was obviously of the same mind. Rather than going straight to the inn they headed for the mayor’s house. People had been waiting for him to return, and so by the time they reached it, they had a nice crowd following them. Jaskier banged on the door until the man opened, still dressed in his nightclothes. Then she upended the bag at his feet, spilling out the severed head to bump against his bare toes. “Geralt of Rivia has slain your monster. His payment, if you please.” She crossed her arms and glared as the mayor danced backwards, looking rather green around the edges. The crowd began to cheer. A few began to weep with relief. Called out, the man vanished for a few minutes and returned with a heavy purse. Where Geralt would have just taken whatever was inside it, Jaskier opened it to count. “You’re shy by twenty ducats. The contract was for one hundred. You have eighty here. I know it’s early, I’m sure it’s just a mistake. We’ll wait.”

The mayor opened his mouth to protest, but someone in the crowd started to sing Toss a Coin rather angrily and he snapped his mouth shut and stormed back inside. He returned with the other twenty and, now all sweetness, Jaskier thanked him and turned to leave.

“Oi! What am I supposed to do with this? You can’t just leave a – a _head_ on my doorstep!”

“Why on earth not? You paid a hundred ducats for that head. Mount it or toss it in the bog, it’s up to you,” Jaskier called back. Geralt mustered up a hard look when it seemed like the man would protest further.

The mayor didn’t follow them after that.

Jaskier got them back to the inn and passed one of the new gold coins to the innkeeper. “We’ll need a bath in our room, please, and breakfast. As many eggs and sausage as you can manage, with a skin of juice.”

“Aye, ma’am. Should I send for a healer?” the innkeeper eyed their blood spattered clothing a little worriedly.

“No, thank you. The worst has been dealt with. Food, drink, a bath, and rest are what we need right now. Thanks!” Geralt could understand the man’s worry. Jaskier, after all, was essentially holding him up, both arms around his waist and tucked up tight under his shoulder to keep the weight off his bad leg.

Up in their room, she didn’t let him fall into bed. He probably wouldn’t have gotten up again if she had, so he couldn’t blame her. Instead she parked him on one of the wooden chairs and set about getting his armor off. She had him down to just his ruined pants when there was a knock on the door.

She opened it to admit the innkeeper directing a pair of stable hands inside with a reasonably large wooden tub. Right after them came a pair of young women, the man’s daughters based on resemblance, each carrying full buckets of steaming water. They filed out and returned minutes later with more water, and left and returned once more. Jaskier snagged one of the full buckets to use to rinse. Working together, they got his ruined pants down and off his legs, then got him into the tub. The heat felt amazing and made him dizzy again, even as bending his leg to keep it in the tub made his jaw clench with pain. Jaskier made a distressed noise and rolled one of her shirts up. She guided his leg to stick out and padded the edge of the tub with the shirt.

The food came then, and Geralt was hard pressed to use the fork instead of just shoving the food in his mouth with his hands. He polished off the heaping plate, then finished what Jaskier couldn’t of hers as well. He rinsed it down with most of the skin of apple juice, and finally let himself fully relax into the water. Jaskier rolled up her sleeves and knelt by the tub, a cake of soap and a rag in her hands. “You don’t have to –“ he started.

“I want to.” She still smelled distressed, so he held in any further protests. It was easier to do than it had once been. Jaskier had always at least tried to tend to him, and over the years Geralt had allowed the bard to do gradually more and more for him after a hunt. After the good ones, that generally just meant a bath and perhaps a bit of laundry. After the rougher ones, that could mean anything from stitching up some part of his anatomy to all but carting him about as she had done today. Jaskier had always done whatever Geralt had allowed, but it wasn’t until lately that he had come to understand that Jaskier wasn’t simply willing, but actively needed to do it. It helped her soothe whatever distress she felt when he was hurt to take care of him after, and though there was a part of him that demanded he take care of himself, not depend on her, he enjoyed her caretaking too much to really protest.

She washed the blood, sweat, and dirt from his body, then carefully combed the debris out of his hair before washing that clean, too. When she was finished, she had him stand and brace himself with the sturdy chair so she could dump the last bucket over his head to rinse the last of the soap and dirty bathwater off.

She tucked him up into bed – alone, which made him grumble. “Easy, love,” she laughed when he tried to catch her around the waist. “You don’t have enough blood left to fill your cock _and_ stay awake.”

“I’m willing to test that.”

She laughed again and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “Just rest. I’m going to see what herbs I can restock at the apothecary and find you some new pants. I’m afraid your others are beyond repair.” With one more kiss, she wisely tucked their purse full of ducats under his pillow and took her own leaner one filled with copper with her as she left.

He didn’t like her going out alone when most the town knew the size of the purse they’d just received, but both the apothecary and the tailor were fairly close to the inn, and Jaskier was smart enough to just hand over her purse if she was waylaid. And practiced enough with her dagger, after months of him teaching her, to defend herself if there were hard feelings over the copper instead of gold within. He let himself fall into a very light doze until she returned. The pungent aroma of certain herbs came in with her, along with the smell of new leather. The innkeeper was close on her heels and with remarkable quiet under the circumstances, half emptied the tub before the stable hands removed it from the room. Only then did Jaskier lock the door and finally strip down herself to join him in bed.

“Did you rest at all?”

“I dozed.” She huffed a little at his response and pulled his arms around her until they were arranged to her satisfaction, her head pillowed on his chest. “Sleep, Geralt. The wind is turning and the birds flocking south. It’s soon time to head north.”

Geralt breathed her in, cedar and sweetgrass, tuned his hearing to the steady thump of her heartbeat, and closed his eyes.

They stayed at the inn for another two days while he continued to recover. Jaskier played in the evenings, earning them plenty of coin, though they weren’t exactly in need. But Jaskier was of the opinion that they should return with more than a single bag of sweets and some parchment and apparently had a shopping list that she was saving up for. The last full day of their stay she vanished again to begin filling that list and returned with several wrapped parcels in a new leather satchel. Geralt tried taking a peek and got his hand slapped for his efforts. “Not for you, witcher-mine, so hands off. They’re for Fiona.”

“Did you need to buy them now? We _are_ planning to stop in Vespaden,” he pointed out.

“I’ve been to Vespaden before. Their shops are…limited. It’s just a bit of something to make the winter a bit less dreary, Geralt. Don’t fret.”

“I don’t – _fret_. Fretting is something old women do,” he grumbled.

“Old women and grumpy witchers.” She finished packing away whatever had gotten scattered during their stay and then turned to eye him with a bit of a gleam brightening her blue gaze. “Now then, let’s take a look at your leg. We don’t want it to give out on us while we’re on the road, do we?” The honey-sweet scent of her arousal teased at his nose as she walked closer, making his prick swell in the confines of his new trousers. Fully on board, he threaded his fingers in her hair as she dropped to her knees in front of him for his _exam_.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier was much more at home in the saddle than she’d been when they had taken to the road at the start of spring. Her hands were confident on the reins and her body moved easily with Rascal’s gate. They crossed the river and headed north into Kaedwen, keeping to a path that would take them mostly cross country and through the smaller towns and villages, avoiding the larger cities. They found smaller hunts, easier than the werewolf, along the way. Jaskier’s voice earned them free meals more often than not. When there were no inns, they slept rough, and the decreasing temperatures meant they slept close – just as he liked it. He always slept best with her held tightly in his arms, scent filling his nose. It was as close to idyllic as Geralt had ever gotten, and if it weren’t for the first hints of Nilfgaard finally searching for someone other than the missing princess, he would have been entirely content. So far the rumors weren’t specific about _who_ else Nilfgaard was hunting, but his name wouldn’t be far behind. He only allowed them to be seen by villagers because they needed to leave witnesses that placed Geralt with an adult woman of different coloring from Ciri, and even that was difficult for him. It put Jaskier in danger.

Hopefully, the effort Jaskier had put into learning to meditate with him would prove helpful in her efforts to master the shapeshifting ability. Jaskier seemed to think so. She claimed to feel more at home in her skin than ever, and thought she could feel exactly how to will herself into whatever shape she desired, but was willing to wait to try until Yennefer was there to help undo anything she got wrong.

They made good time back to the Keep, but the weather was most definitely turning to winter when they finally reached it. The first good snow would fall any day. Geralt felt his lips quirk as they looked up at the rather forbidding sight. “Here we are again. Should I go and bar the windows?”

“Oh look who thinks he’s funny. Truly, you should quit witchering and become a troubadour. With such wit, why, kings would pay a fortune to have you make jests for them.”

“It was just a question.”

Jaskier rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be an ass. I promised Ciri I would play for her again.”

Geralt urged Roach to sidle closer to Rascal and snaked an arm around Jaskier’s waist. “And is that the only reason you’ve come?”

Jaskier grinned up at him and reached up to tug on his hair. “Of course not. There’s also all the fodder for new songs. Why, the castle alone is inspiration! So dark and forbidding – so atmospheric!”

“You are a brat.” He caught her mouth for a fast kiss, but Roach danced away before it could go anywhere, more than fed up with the delay and wanting her nice warm stable and fresh hay. “I suppose that is our cue to go in.”

Jaskier chuckled and touched her heels to Rascal’s sides to follow him in. When they reached the stables, Geralt was a little surprised to note an extra two horses already present. “Who else do you think is here? Yennefer would have found us if it was a problem, right?”

“She would have. It’s not unusual for some of us to winter here and rest for renewed hunting in the spring. It’s fine, Jaskier.” They got the horses unloaded and brushed out and set for the night, then hefted their bags to take in. Geralt carried the bulk of their packs while Jaskier cradled her lute and the satchel of presents for Ciri. He nearly dropped everything when they entered the Hall and a small blond whirlwind all but tackled him with a happy shriek.

“Geralt! I’m so glad you’re back, I’ve missed you! Where’s Jaskier?” Ciri stepped back and craned her head around him, eyes widening at the sight of Jaskier somewhat awkwardly standing there with her lute. “Who…Jaskier?” she squeaked.

“Hello, sweeting. It’s been a bit of an adventure since I last saw you. You’ve gotten taller!”

“You got shorter! How did this happen? Another curse?” She looked between Geralt and Jaskier. “Did you let him – her – Jaskier get cursed again?”

“Nothing quite so dramatic, sweeting.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Vesemir grumped, interrupting. He was giving Jaskier a hard, suspicious look. “I suppose I should congratulate you on not dying in the storm when you left and endangered us all.”

“Vesemir,” Geralt warned. “Don’t start. Jaskier took your concerns under advisement and took measures to protect herself from notice.”

“Hmm.” Vesemir walked over, suspicion not fading one bit. His nostrils flared. Geralt knew exactly what he was smelling and lifted his chin a fraction as he stared his old instructor down. Their scent was all over each other, in a way that simply traveling together wouldn’t account for. Vesemir had always stressed not getting involved, particularly with humans. He wouldn’t exactly be congratulating them.

“Ah, the triumphant hero returns. And he’s brought…entertainment,” Yennefer drawled. Geralt glanced at her, standing in the doorway flanked with Eskel and Lambert. “I’m sure this will be quite the merry winter.” She sounded genuinely amused. “That is no ordinary spell on you, bard. I can’t detect magic at all. Who was the caster?”

“Really? Do we really need to do this before we’ve even got our coats off?” Jaskier said, exasperated.

Yennefer smiled slightly. “I suppose it can wait until you’ve put your things away. And perhaps had a bath, as well. It must have been a _long_ journey.”

Geralt could hear the other two witchers taking audible sniffs. Eskel looked like he was ready to make a joke. Lambert, on the other hand, just looked irritable.

“Have you lost what little senses you possessed? Bringing your bedwarmer here, now, under the current circumstances?” he said waspishly.

Jaskier sucked in a breath and Geralt could smell her sudden anger. “Enough,” Geralt growled. “Ciri, we will sit down and speak with you soon. Right now, we want to get settled in.” The girl nodded, looking torn between glee and anger when she looked Lambert’s way. Geralt herded Jaskier past the others and up the stairs to his quarters. He shut the door behind them with a silent sigh, waiting.

Jaskier didn’t disappoint. “Bedwarmer. **Bedwarmer**. That overgrown oaf. Harebrained muscle bound _ass_. Why, in the gods’ names, would he think you fool enough to bring some casual companion to Kaer Morhen? Much _less_ when you’ve your Child Surprise sheltering here? Tell me truly, he’s suffered a great many head injuries, hasn’t he?”

Geralt snickered, then pulled her close, capturing her wildly gesticulating hands in one of his. “He has. But the insult was more to you than myself.”

Jaskier sniffed. “Hardly, Geralt. It’s only an insult to prudes to look down on anyone for taking casual pleasure with another – though I’m sure for him, jealousy is likely part of it. Can’t imagine there’s a line outside _his_ bedroom door. No, the insult was to you. This is going to be a long winter with that fluff-brained twat roaming about.”

Geralt had a feeling she was right but didn’t want to say so just yet. “Get a fire started, would you? And I’ll show you one of the best parts of the Keep that you missed the last time.”

Jaskier resumed her muttering as she stomped over to the fireplace to get a blaze started. Geralt could have done so much faster with _igni_ , but he’d found it was best to give her something to do when she was annoyed. He took the time to hang up their heavy coats and start pulling apart their packs. All of their gear could use a wash, and most of their travel clothes were in need of mending. Only Jaskier’s performing clothes were in fair condition.

With their dirty things in a basket and the fire taking a good hold, he held out a hand to his bard. “Let’s go. I think you’ll like this.”

Jaskier’s natural curiosity overcame her anger and she eagerly followed him. He took her down to the lowest part of the keep. Kaer Morhen had been built over the top of a natural spring, and pumps had been built to draw it into large tubs, set up from the floor and heated with a fire kept burning beneath them. Geralt added a few logs to the fires to keep them going while she examined the pumps and drains, then dipped her hand into one of the pools to feel the warm water. “Geralt, this is amazing! Constant hot water for baths? And no one has to carry the tubs out?”

“We use them for laundry as well.”

Making happy little noises, she started to kick off her boots. Geralt sealed the door before joining her. He settled in against the side to soak and just watched her float on her back for a bit, each of them just soaking in the heat and luxury. With a happy hum, she poked him in the chest with her foot. “If someone had mentioned these to me a year ago, I might well have stayed regardless of what I thought you felt about me.”

“Oh I see. Just using me for my bathing facilities.” He caught her foot and lifted it to his mouth to press a kiss to her ankle. The water dulled her scent, but he could still clearly see her pulse jump at her throat and her eyes dilate.

She hooked her free foot around his waist and pulled herself closer to him. “Oh darling, I’m using you for so much more than that. You mustn’t forget the mind bending orgasms.”

“Mind bending, are they?”

“Hmm, you’re right. More mind melting.” She arched her back a little, pushing her breast up and her hips down. He skimmed his hands along her legs, over her hips and around to the small of her back, then lifted her out of the water. Water cascaded over him from her hair as he sucked a tight, rosy nipple between his lips. Jaskier moaned, curling over his head, hands clutched in his hair to hold him there. Her hips rocked in the air, seeking friction at her core but held up out of reach of his body. He pulled back and blew lightly over her tight nipple, enjoying the way her whole body shivered, then turned to give equal attention to the other. “Geralt, oh, fuck you’re so good at that, your mouth is so _hot_ , please,” she begged. Barely begun, but always so responsive to him, generous with her praise, with her moans and pleas, eager to touch and be touched. Her hands left his hair to stroke down his shoulders, his arms, as far down his back as she could reach. “Please, Geralt,” she gasped.

He released her nipple. “Please what? What do you want?”

“You. I always want you.” He tilted his head at her insistence and opened his mouth for her kiss, stroking his tongue along hers. She pushed her hips down against his hold. He loosened his grip, slid his hands up her back while she pushed down, seeking and finding his cock with commendable aim. He groaned his pleasure into her mouth as her hot, wet cunt sucked him in and gripped him tight. Her knees found purchase on the bench on either side of his hips and she immediately began to ride at a hard, fast pace. She kept their chests pressed together, breasts sliding against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his chest hair against sensitive nipples.

He slid one hand down over her ass, fingers just brushing over the tight hole between her cheeks. She reared back with a gasp and shoved backwards, trying to increase the pressure. He pushed, the water making everything slippery, and slid one finger inside her. He pressed carefully as she continued to move, fucking down harder, and could feel his own cock moving inside her. “I can feel me in you,” he ground out.

“So can I! _Fuck!_ ” She came with a shout, muscles clenching deliciously around him. He held still as her hips ground tight circles against him, and moved only when she slumped a little and pressed happy, clinging kisses over his face.

“My turn to ride, fluff.” He lifted her off and turned in the water, setting her with knees on the bench and arms braced against the side. He bent over her and slid home again, hands braced alongside hers on the side the of tub. Like this, she had even better leverage, with both arms and legs, to push back against him. Water sloshed as he rode her furiously, mouth pressing sucking, biting kisses to her neck and shoulder. Each thrust punched a moan or cry from her throat, echoing around the chamber, a symphony just for him. “I love when you sing for me, fluff. The sweetest music I’ve ever heard. Keep singing,” he ordered. He moved one arm around her, angled up between her breasts to grip her shoulder, pulling her back into every thrust. He was close, and he knew she was too. “My bard,” he gritted. “My own. Sing for me, Jas.”

“Oh, oh _yes_!” her shout rang in his ears as she tumbled over the edge again. She flung a hand back to grip his hip, fingernails biting in his skin as she tried to hold him deep. He pushed in as far as he could possibly go and followed her over the edge.

They stayed locked together like that, riding out the aftershocks for several long, blissful moments. When he finally moved, it was only to turn them so he could sit on the bench again with her draped over his lap, careful to stay inside her. Her arms reached up and wrapped behind his neck, tangling again in his hair. He slid languid hands over her, touching just to touch rather than rouse, but still drawing pleased hums whenever his touch swept over her more sensitive place. He buried his nose in her wet hair, drawing in the scent of her that was trapped in the wet locks.

Jaskier giggled. “We’ve had some creative baths before, witcher-mine, but I gotta say, these giant tubs are _far_ easier to move in. No banged shins or anything!”

“I’m sure that’s exactly what they had in mind when they designed the room,” he said dryly.

Eventually, his cock softened and slipped out of her as it always did. And as always, she made a little sigh of regret at the loss. He slid his hand down to cup her there, drawing another, more contented sigh from her. “I think I could sleep like this,” she murmured.

“We’re not sleeping in a bathtub,” he said firmly. “You’d go to curl up on your side and drown.”

“No I wouldn’t. At best, I’d get a dunking. You’d never let me go under for that long.”

“It’s an experience I would prefer to avoid.” They stayed like that for a while, enveloped in the quiet and each other, until the slowing of her heartbeat showed she really was on the verge of falling asleep there. “Jas, it’s time to get out. The room should be warm by now.” She yawned but didn’t protest as he urged her up and out to towel off and pull one of her few clean garments on – one of her performing dresses – forgoing underthings.

It woke her up a little, enough to eye the basket with their dirty clothes in it. “Is it alright to leave those? I’ll wash them tomorrow while you catch up with Ciri and Vesemir,” she offered, nose wrinkling when she said the older witcher’s name. She’d had a grudge against the man since they’d met, and he hadn’t been able to convince her he didn’t deserve it.

“It’ll be fine until _we_ catch up with the others.”

“If you say so – but if that addled-brained cockthistle insults you again, I’m going to punch him. With your silver knuckles, so he feels it!”

Shaking his head, he guided her back up to what was now _their_ room while she muttered under her breath. He had a feeling Lambert was going to be the star of a song or two of his own – but far less flattering than anything Jaskier had written about him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ohNpf4VnlP8

Everything was bigger at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier found. He hadn’t had much of a chance to appreciate any of it the first time she’d been there, but it wasn’t just the fireplaces that were huge. The witchers did everything to a larger scale. The baths, the beds, the meals. Which made sense, of course. The place had been home to witchers, old and in progress, and for the ones that made it through the Trials and mutations, they tended towards large.

After traipsing back down to wash their clothes, she went exploring the day after their arrival, allowing Geralt to catch up with everyone in his own way and at his own pace. While she avoided the rooms in the living section, all others were fair game. She found both indoor and outdoor training areas, a couple different armories, an enormous kitchen and pantry, and her favorite: a _library_. It wasn’t large by Oxenfurt standards, but it was far larger than she had expected to find in the Keep. There was a total lack of any leisure reading, which fit into her expectations, but it contained not only large tomes about the various monsters that inhabited the world, but what appeared to be written histories of the Witcher guild.

Her hands _shook_ with the desire to pull them down and start reading. So much about witchers was still unknown to her and the rest of the world. All those secrets were right there, begging to be read and known. She trailed delicate fingers over old, cracked and flaking spines. How much could she learn and then teach the rest of the world? But….

With a regretful sigh, she pulled her hands away. There were reasons the witchers had been so secretive. She would not take what she wasn’t offered, as much as she burned to know everything about Geralt. They did not take from each other that which wasn’t freely offered, and she wasn’t about to start now. And she certainly would not be putting anything of those secrets into song for the world. His deeds were fodder enough. The bestiaries would more than suffice to expand her knowledge. It would definitely help her with her songs to know the actual facts about monsters, beyond what she’d already learned while traveling with Geralt – even now, he still tended towards stinginess with the details. She plucked the first of the bestiaries up and turned, idly wondering if she were permitted to take the books out of the library or if she’d have to be confined to the dark, slightly dingy room while she read.

She stopped short upon seeing Lambert in the doorway, watching her with an inscrutable look on his face. Her eyes narrowed at him, recalling his appalling insult of the night before. That anyone who had known Geralt for more than five minutes could think he would bring someone that would endanger his Child into her vicinity infuriated her. Geralt was the _definition_ of protector – even of strangers, and only more so for the ones he considered ‘his’, few in number as they were. “What?” she demanded.

“Do you have permission to be in here?” Lambert demanded right back.

“I didn’t ask – but I was also not told to stay out, so I don’t see what business it is of yours.”

“This is my home, bardling. What happens here is very much my business.”

“This is Geralt’s home as well, witcher, and I am here by his invitation.”

“Not in this room. You’ve no business here, so I suggest you stay out. Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing our private histories,” he warned.

She held up the book in her hands. “Then you should also have seen me leave them on the shelves and choose something else to read,” she snapped back. She stalked forward, intent on leaving. He stayed put, blocking her exit. “Would you mind stepping to the side.”

“Not until you put the book back. You have no reason to read it.”

“Other than making sure I have accurate information? I’ve already encountered a couple of the creatures this book mentions, and it seems perfectly reasonable to _me_ to read up on the others. Considering I travel extensively with a witcher and all.” He reached for the book and she stepped back, holding it out of his reach. He changed his aim to grab her arm. “Let go of me,” she snarled, suddenly, blindingly furious rather than simply annoyed. “You have neither permission nor cause to lay hands on me!” She jerked her arm, but he was definitely stronger than she was.

“Give me the book and I will,” he growled back. It was a watered down version of Geralt’s growl, and didn’t intimidate in the slightest. She sneered right in his face, still twisting her arm in an effort to get loose. His face creased with confusion. “Are you brain damaged? You’re not afraid in the slightest.”

“Afraid – of _you_? Buddy, if I’ve never been afraid of Geralt, why the fuck would I be afraid of you? Now, I really can’t stress enough how much you should let me go. Geralt does not like bruises on me.”

“Are you actually threatening me with my brother?”

“No, warning you,” she corrected. “More, if you don’t want the continent to think you’re a cheat who fails his contracts with a cock covered in mysterious warts, then you should really back the fuck off of me.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he actually did. She stalked by him without a backwards glance. Too angry for company, she returned to the bedroom and threw open the heavy drapes to let the weak early winter sun spill over the bed and flopped down to begin reading. The book was rather dense and dry, but held such a wealth of information that she was still riveted, and managed to forget her anger for the most part.

“Fluff, do you intend – “ Geralt said as he opened the door, making her jump. He cut himself off as his nostrils flared. “What happened? You’re angry.”

She rolled her eyes. “Lambert posturing. It’s nothing. What were you saying?”

Geralt frowned but dropped the subject. “I was wondering if you intended to stay in bed all day or if you wanted to join us for the mid-day meal.” As if on cue her stomach growled, and she laughed as she climbed off the bed with a stretch. “What are you reading?” he asked, getting closer so he could tuck his nose into her hair.

She leaned against him and held up the book. “A bestiary, because _someone_ doesn’t like to get into the details about the things he kills.”

Geralt just hummed a bit. “Boring book.”

“Informative. Granted, it’s rather dry, the author wasn’t a terribly engaging wordsmith, but it gets the information across, so.” She shrugged. “You said something about food?” She marked her page and left the book on the bed so they could go down to eat. To her surprise, Geralt snagged her lute on their way out.

“Ciri was hoping you’d play for us today,” he explained.

She smiled, pleased. “Of course – I definitely owe her a concert. How is she?”

“Making progress. And her nightmares have lessened.”

“Good!”

“We should speak to Yennefer after we eat, about your ability.”

Butterflies flitted in her stomach, but she nodded. It was as much anticipation as nerves. She wanted to learn to control her ability. Aside from hating the idea almost as much as Geralt of being vulnerable to anyone else that figured out how malleable her form was, she was certain that being able to change herself to look like anyone or anything could be of great benefit in the coming years.

Ciri ran up to give her a hug when they walked into the dining room, clapping delightedly when she spotted the lute. “So you’ll play after we eat?”

“Of course, sweeting. Whatever you’d like to hear,” she promised.

“Wonderful,” Lambert muttered, poking forcefully at his venison.

Geralt gave him a hard look, but Ciri whirled around with a full glare. “Yes, it **is**! If you don’t like it, you can always go sulk somewhere else! Some of us enjoy things outside of killing monsters!”

Lambert held up both hands, immediately backing down from the irate princess. It made Jaskier soften towards him – slightly. They joined the rest at the table and helped themselves to the food. It was all a little bland, but cooked without burning, which was more than Geralt could manage so Jaskier would call it a win. But if Yennefer planned to portal anywhere, Jaskier would slip her some money to bring back some spices to liven things up a little. Speaking of…

“So Jaskier, how did you manage to end up in a dress instead of trousers? It beats being a cat I suppose, but hardly a common occurrence either way,” the witch asked. Jaskier looked to Geralt first, eyes flicking to the other witchers in question. They hadn’t expected the two to be there, so they hadn’t discussed letting anyone besides the witch, Ciri, and Vesemir know. Geralt nodded, so Jaskier answered.

“Dahlia. Vesemir did actually have a point when he said my name would eventually come to Nilfgaard’s attention, so I couldn’t be Jaskier. She, ah, mentioned that I happened to be not fully human.” The table went quiet as forks stopped moving and everyone turned to look at her. She shrugged. “My mother is an elf. Apparently, different clans often have different abilities unique to that bloodline. Mine happens to be shapeshifting. We were planning to talk to you about it sometime today. We were able to find out _how_ to do it, but apparently it’s very easy to mess it up when you first start learning, and it’s a good idea to have someone on hand that can change you back if you forget to alter all your bits correctly.” She made a face. “The clan declined to teach me beyond telling me the how of it.”

Yennefer had an odd look on her face, but still, she nodded agreeably enough. Further down the table, however, Lambert snorted.

“What?” Geralt demanded, jaw setting at a belligerent angle.

“Her own kind didn’t want her. It only makes me wonder _more_ why she’s here,” Lambert shot back, unintimidated. “I fail to see what even a shapeshifting bard brings to the table that makes it worth exposing all our secrets, and Ciri’s too!”

Geralt’s eyes darkened, and Jaskier knew they were gearing up for a fight. She knew that look.

Yennefer, however, laughed, a trifle mockingly. “Really? You can’t see what a benefit having a bard of Jaskier’s stature and popularity on our side is?”

“What, is she going to inspire us with rousing songs of heroics?”

“Jaskier has a power far more subtle than anything the rest of us bring, and you’ve been benefiting from it already for several years now.”

Lambert scoffed. “I have benefitted from nothing from her! I never even met her before.”

“Yet the fact remains, you have been benefitting from what she does.”

“Bullshit,” he said flatly.

Yennefer sighed, loud and theatric, projecting an air of put upon patience. “Jaskier, there was a lullaby that was popular when I was a girl. Do you know the one I mean?”

Jaskier frowned in thought. “Vengerberg, so Aedirn,” she mused. “I won’t try to guess your age, but – Lullaby of Woe?” Yennefer nodded. “Yes, I know it. Bit rubbish, really, who would sing that to little children?”

“Everyone did, once. Would you play it for our stubborn witcher here?”

“I know it,” Lambert said shortly.

“Shut up. Jaskier,” Yennefer nodded.

Stifling a sigh of her own, she fetched her lute, gave it a quick tune, and began to strum the eerie melody.

“Wolves asleep amidst the trees  
Bats all a swaying in the breeze  
But one soul lies anxious wide awake  
Fearing al manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths  
For your dolly Polly sleep has flown  
Don't dare let her tremble alone  
For the witcher, heartless, cold  
Paid in coin of gold  
He comes he'll go leave naught behind  
But heartache and woe  
Deep, deep woe  
Birds are silent for the night  
Cows turned in as daylight dies  
But one soul lies anxious wide awake  
Fearing all manner of ghouls, hags and wraiths  
My dear dolly Polly shut your eyes  
Lie still, lie silent, utter no cries  
As the witcher, brave and bold  
Paid in coin of gold  
He'll chop and slice you  
Cut and dice you  
Eat you up whole  
Eat you whole”

She trailed off with the last note and looked up. Ciri was frowning, looking upset. “Oh, sweeting, don’t fret. You almost never hear that sort of thing anymore,” she assured her.

“Now, let’s hear a more recent classic. Toss a Coin, if you please, bard,” Yennefer ordered. Shrugging, she played the song. She could play it in her sleep, really, it was one of her most requested songs, always a crowd pleaser. “ _That_ is played in every court, every house and tavern on the continent, by every bard that wants to be actually popular,” Yennefer said flatly. “In a matter of years, people have gone from warning children that witchers are cold, care for naught but coin, and will kill them as soon as look at them, to praising them in song. Which is not to say that they aren’t still afraid – but you get paid more easily. You are driven from towns far less. You no longer, in general, get spit on simply for trying to have a meal and a drink. The power that Jaskier has may take longer to work, but it’s the power to shape perception on a grand scale, and it’s one that very, very few possess. If she can keep from petting starving Hirrickas, anyway.”

Jaskier pouted. “Look, it was cute and sad until it stood up, and even Geralt said it was starving and harmless. _You’re_ the one that brought the meathead that had to kill it just because it wasn’t human – not that he didn’t get what was coming to him after that.”

“What happened to him?” Ciri asked.

“Someone cut his throat while he was, ah, have digestive issues after eating the wrong part of it. Very undignified.” Ciri looked torn between horrified and amused.

Yennefer ignored them, still staring at Lambert. “Admit it – your payments are given more readily, people are less afraid of you. Only in the most backwoods, furthest reaches do you still encounter the terror and hostility that was once the norm.”

Very, _very_ grudgingly, Lambert nodded. His look was no less unfriendly when his eyes landed on her. “And yet, I still doubt the wisdom of taking this one into our home and letting her be privy to our secrets. She literally sings all she knows for a copper – and tales of Jaskier the Bard’s sexual proclivities are rampant. What will she spill when she tumbles into the next person’s bed?”

Jaskier shrugged easily. “Whatever he asks of me. Since the next person will be Geralt, and always will be. And,” she added snippily, “these days I command rather more than a copper for my singing, even as Arell rather than Jaskier.”

“Why do I doubt both those statements?”

“Because you’re a moron,” she said flatly. “I don’t care a tin penny’s worth what you think of me, only what you do and do not do. As long as you continue to train Ciri and protect her, and _do not touch me_ , I think we can agree to ignore each other. We’ll all have a more pleasant winter that way.”

Beside her, Geralt finally stirred and she winced mentally. “If I find you’ve laid a hand on her, Lambert, I will cut it off,” he promised, growl in his tone.

“Over a bard that’s had more lovers than you’ve had years?”

“Yes. Don’t push me on this. You won’t like the results.”

“Boys, that’s enough,” Vesemir finally interrupted. “The bard is here. It’s clear that she will go to great lengths to protect information about Ciri. We’ve enough to be getting on with without all this extra nonsense. Finish your meals.” Then he stabbed his fork towards Lambert. “But you had better not have laid hands on her without cause. You were taught better, boy.”

Jaskier found it a little disconcerting to hear the man calling them boys when she knew full well they were really quite old by human standards, but she kept her comments to herself. Instead she applied herself to her food. Ciri finished a bit before she did and sat patiently, but as soon Jaskier swallowed her last bite she sat at attention and looked at Jaskier expectantly. Laughing a little, Jaskier picked up her lute and launched right into a fast, jaunty tune often sung at weddings. From the corner of her eye she noticed Yennefer sit back, toes tapping and Eskel mouthing along with the words. Geralt was his usual stoic self, which didn’t bother her, and she expected the constipated looks Lambert and Vesemir wore – clearly those two were just allergic to fun. Or at least fun if it involved Jaskier.

Ciri however jumped up by the second song and tried to bully Geralt into dancing. He begged off, pleading ignorance, but Eskel volunteered, as did Yennefer. Jaskier joined them as best she could considering she still had to play, and a very merry hour was spent.

Eventually, however, Vesemir stood up. “Alright, young lady, that’s enough. I’m sure Jaskier will play again later. Out to the yard, now, it’s time for practice.”

Ciri was pink cheeked and smiling and nodded agreeably. “Okay! Thanks, Jaskier, that was fun!”

“Go kick some ass, sweeting!”

She ran out, followed at a more sedate pace by Vesemir and Lambert. Eskel threw himself into a chair and snagged the wine. “You’re a truly fine player, Jaskier. You’ll liven the place up a bit. You wouldn’t happen to know The Fishmonger’s Daughter, would you?”

“I wrote it,” she said dryly. “I should say I know it. I’m hardly going to play it for Ciri any time soon, however.”

“I should think not,” Geralt grumbled.

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Over-protective lout. Why not just lock her away in a temple? She grew up at court! It may as well have been a brothel.”

“She’s still of an age where she’s little to no interest in that yet. She can wait to hear the bawdy songs again until then – I’ve plenty of others to play, and I’m sure I’ll write more still while we’re here.”

“Whatever. Now, let’s discuss this shapeshifting. What did you learn?”

With a sigh, Jaskier sat down and leaned against Geralt. “Not terribly much, I’m afraid. My mother is a little –“

“Crazy,” Geralt interjected. “A cold, crazy bitch. Sorry,” he added belatedly, shooting her an apologetic look.

“No, it’s okay. You’re not wrong. The ability is passed down, but it’s not a guarantee that a child will have it. She didn’t. That clan of elves used to hold apparently most of the land from the sea to the Amell mountains, until humans came along and drove them out. They’re much fewer in number, and have a hidden enclave. They _hate_ humans. They tried to kill us, actually. Mother had left with some odd idea of – of mixing the bloodlines to increase the elven population until they’re enough to take back the territory. She doesn’t have the support of the clan in that, so I don’t think much of her chances. But the ability did pass down to me, at least, though none of my siblings.”

“Were you able to get any information on how they control it?”

Geralt repeated the short phrase they had learned. “We were told, under duress, that the cantrip plus focus and will are what is needed – and practice. They also said their children learn while under the eye of an elder who can take control of the shift and correct it if they shift wrong and forget to adjust their heart or something.”

“Sounds fairly risky,” Eskel observed. “Are you sure it’s something you want to mess with?”

“If Dahlia was able to transform you using this ability of yours, then any mage can,” Yennefer said. “If they know to look for it.”

“That’s what we’re worried about.”

Yennefer nodded. “So you want me to sit in while you practice shapeshifting and put you back to normal if you fuck it up.”

Jaskier eyed her warily. They’d had a rather…tense relationship, until now. Yennefer’s threat to cut off his dick and kill him when they’d first met hadn’t been the best beginning, and Jaskier’s jealousy over her relationship with Geralt hadn’t helped. “If you’re willing, yes. Geralt’s been working with me on meditation to improve my focus all summer and fall. I can almost…I can _feel_ the shift, just out of reach. Like the first hint of a sneeze, but over my whole body.”

Yennefer nodded thoughtfully. “And you’ve never had a hint of magic at any point?”

“Not a bit. The shift is independent of magical ability, I guess. Aelrindel wasn’t terribly forthcoming, what with wanting to kill me to cleanse the bloodline.”

“This should be interesting. My mornings are Ciri’s, but we can work on it in the afternoons. We’ll begin tomorrow,” Yennefer decided. “Finish settling in for today. I don’t want you distracted.” She rose and walked out, matter apparently settled.

“Huh.” She looked at Geralt. “Somehow I expected…not that.”

“You two never got along.”

“She threatened to cut off my dick,” she pointed out. “It leaves an impression.”

“Why – did you fuck someone she wanted?” Eskel asked. His gaze went pointedly to Geralt.

Jaskier gave him a flat look. “No. Geralt and I were still just friends then. And I _did_ grow out of the habit of sleeping with married people.”

Eskel raised his hands peaceably. “Just a question, I meant nothing by it.”

“Sure. I’m going back to my book.” She pressed a lingering kiss to Geralt’s lips before following Yennefer out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt joined her a few hours later. By then, she had finished the book and moved on to making notes, referring back to the tome as needed to make sure she wasn’t confusing her monster facts. The information in the book had been different enough from what was ‘common knowledge’ that she’d had the idea for a series of songs to correct that. They wouldn’t be about any particular hunt so much as they would be a tool to teach and correct the misconceptions. Certainly she wouldn’t be able to include every known fact about every known monster, but if she could get the main points across so people knew what to watch out for, what to avoid, she thought that could be a tremendous help in keeping people from doing anything too stupid.

“You’re looking very scholarly,” he observed when he walked in.

“Well, as I _am_ a scholar, I suppose that’s fitting.”

He hummed thoughtfully as he came to lean against the edge of the table. “I suppose you are, at that. Following me about, taking all your notes. Basically just research trips, weren’t they?”

“Hands on study is really the best method.” She put the pen down so she could slide her hands around his hips, humming a little under her breath. “Have fun catching up?”

“It’s always good to see my brothers and trade stories. They’ve been further south than we were. Hunting is getting – difficult, in Nilfgaard controlled areas. Witchers stay neutral in human conflicts, but the Nilfgaardians are no longer satisfied with that policy.” He grimaced. “Witchers will soon have to withdraw from the area or risk being conscripted into their armies. It will leave people vulnerable.”

“Well fuck.”

“That about sums it up.”

With a sigh, she let her head rest on his thigh and felt his fingers start carding through her hair. Geralt had become used to casual intimate touches, very quickly. He’d always seemed to just tolerate her naturally tactile nature until the change in their relationship. Once given permission, he had taken to touching her outside of sex with gusto, and Jaskier reveled in it. He had still not managed to say the words, but the small touches like this, just being quiet together, said them just fine.

After a time, though, he stirred. “We should go down. Supper should be ready.”

She straightened with a stretch. “Okay. I really must find something more active to do – if I sit around composing and researching and eating, I’ll get fat! Poor Rascal is going to throw me off his back come spring.”

“We can train in the mornings while Ciri is with Yennefer,” he offered. “You’re light and fast on your feet, I think you would do well with a short sword.”

“Maybe,” she allowed. “I do feel better knowing how to use my dagger properly – a bit less like you constantly have to watch out for me.”

“I’ll always watch out for you,” he said instantly.

“I know – but I’m less helpless, so I’m less of a burden.” She brightened. “I’ve always wondered how I’d do with a bow.” She held out her hands, palm up. “I’ve already got decent calluses from the lute. **And** that could help with hunting. Snares aren’t always reliable.”

“Eskel is an excellent marksman. I’m sure he’d be willing to teach you.”

Her lips pursed, but she nodded. “If he’s willing. But not Lambert.”

“No,” he agreed. “Not Lambert. Speaking of which, I’m curious about something you mentioned at lunch. Why _did_ you stress that he not touch you?”

“Because I don’t like to be touched by people I don’t like,” she said promptly. “And I don’t like him.”

“No other reason? Nothing to do with the posturing you mentioned?”

She patted his chest soothingly as they walked into the dining room. “Don’t fuss so, love. There’s no need to cut off anyone’s hands.” Which was perfectly true, but also the only favor she was willing to do for the man. Thankfully there had been no bruise where Lambert had gripped her arm to give away that there had been more to the incident.

“Hmm.” The hard look he gave Lambert when they entered told her he wasn’t entirely buying her prevarication.

“How was training?” she asked Ciri brightly, taking a seat next to the girl.

Ciri looked tired and a little dirty, cheeks chapped from being out in the cold. “It was alright. Vesemir says my footwork is improving.”

“Of course it is! You are the picture of grace. For the most part.” She used her sleeve to wipe a bit of dirt from the girl’s nose, making her laugh. “If you like, I’ve brought a few gifts to help the winter pass a little more swiftly. We can go get them after dinner.”

“What did you bring me?”

“Books!”

Ciri’s face fell. “More books? I study an awful lot already.”

“Ciri,” Geralt said sternly.

Jaskier just laughed as she started to dish up some stew. “It’s alright. I would have reacted the same at her age. Except these books are strictly for fun – fairy tales and epic plays. You’ll pick up a few things about the customs from other countries, but that’s mostly by accident.”

Looking a bit cheered, Ciri tucked into her own stew. “So what did you do today?”

“Studied.” She laughed again at the girl’s surprised face. “A bard must always be learning, sweeting. And frankly, I have been appalled at the misinformation that’s out there about monsters. I’ve learned a lot from Geralt over the years, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to dig into the witchers’ own library. I’m planning a new series of songs to start teaching people the reality. I’m not certain I can make a song about _every_ type of monster out there, but it should be interesting to try!”

“That might actually be useful,” Vesemir rumbled. “Unless it encourages people to think they can start killing monsters themselves.”

“They do that anyway. It might increase their chances of surviving to feel stupid later.” Jaskier gave him a tight smile before addressing the princess again. With a bit of leading, she got the girl to start talking a bit more. Soon, she was chattering away about her favorite songs, her favorite games, her training, the keep, and the forest surrounding them, which she wasn’t permitted into alone but loved to go out into when she was learning to track and hunt. Jaskier countered with stories of her time at university, some of the cities she’d seen, courts she’d played at, her undying rivalry with Valdo Marx. “He’s a complete cad! A no talent, song stealing swine who cannot carry a tune in a bucket and compensates by being flashy and playing his subpar lute too loudly.”

“I’ve heard of him,” Eskel interjected. “He’s from Oxenfurt, yes? Rather famous there, as I recall, seems quite well off.”

Jaskier rolled her eyes. “Because he’s related to the Chancellor – a nephew.”

“Connections are often more important than natural skill,” Yennefer agreed.

Jaskier paused, wondering why the woman was being so…helpful. Their relationship had never been like that. Yennefer just blandly ate her stew, and with a mental shrug, Jaskier went back into her story.

“It sounds so exciting! I want to see a large concert like that someday,” she said wistfully.

Jaskier caught herself before she could suggest they all go via portal. She didn’t want to get the girl’s hopes up if it couldn’t be done safely. “Someday, I’m sure you shall. Now then, are you finished eating? Shall we go look at your new books?”

“Yes please!” Ciri jumped up, all but vibrating. “There’s _nothing_ fun to read in the library here,” she confided as she towed Jaskier towards the door.

“I noticed. Bestiaries and histories. And very dry ones at that! Still, it is important information, and an uneducated mind is often a very closed one.”

“I know it’s important,” she pouted. “But sometimes….”

“Sometimes?” Jaskier prompted.

“I – I miss having fun,” she confessed in a small voice. “It’s so selfish, I **know** , I must train and learn enough if I’m to take my country back, but. That’s all I do. I’m so glad you’re here, Jaskier. At least you talk about other things.”

“It’s generally more difficult to get me to shut up!” She opened the door to their room and found the satchel with the books in it – as well as a couple other things. “I brought some nicer soaps for you as well. Geralt uses the harshest stuff when I’m not around, and I couldn’t imagine Vesemir was much different. And here,” she pulled out a well wrapped bottle. “This should be good for those chapped cheeks. Winter air is so dry.”

Ciri opened the bottle of lotion and sniffed it. The scent, in difference to the sensitive noses of witchers in residence, was mild but sweet, smelling faintly of lavender. “It’s lovely! Thank you, Jaskier.”

“You are most welcome. Now, let’s take a look at these titles, and see which you might like to start with. If you stick to a chapter a night, I should think these will last most of the winter.” Together, the poured over the books, flipping through to reach a few words here or there. Jaskier had stayed strictly away from any tragedies, sticking to romance or comedies. Ciri seemed pretty excited, and gave Jaskier an impulsive hug more than once.

Eventually, though, Vesemir appeared in the doorway and summoned Ciri to her evening lessons. Ciri thanked her again and ran to put her gifts in her room. Vesemir paused in the doorway.

“I trust you won’t be interfering with her training. She’s come far, but she has farther still to go.”

“I’m sure she does. But she’s a young girl. She needs a bit of fun in her life, too. You can’t forget the spirit entirely when training the body and mind.”

Vesemir shook his head. “Romantic nonsense.”

“No. Reality. After what she went through, she will push herself until she drops, all on her own. It’s up to the rest of us to make sure that doesn’t happen, and giving herself something to smile about eases the invisible hurts and refreshes the will.”

“I’ve trained boys into witchers since before you were born. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yes – you taught them to kill and to survive, but not to live. There’s a difference, Vesemir. Ciri will have a life beyond killing someday. Let her keep enough joy in her heart to be able to enjoy that when it comes.”

The old witcher shook his head and walked away. With a sigh, Jaskier got up to start folding and putting away their now dry clothes. It was going to be a long winter if she kept butting heads with half the residents, but she couldn’t stand by and just let them stuff Ciri into the only mold they knew.

“You’ve certainly got Vesemir and my brothers confused,” Geralt said, making her jump.

“Confused? Why?”

He smiled. “The same reason you had me confused for so long – you’re not intimidated by them in the least. You talk back and you’re completely unimpressed. They’re not used to someone like you. Yennefer makes sense – she’s a sorceress. They wouldn’t expect her to be bothered. Ciri was intimidated for a time, but she’s been here long enough to not be frightened. You argue. You tell them off. And you’re completely unafraid of them.”

Jaskier rolled her eyes. “Honestly, they’re thick. Why should I fear them? You wouldn’t bring me here, much less Ciri, if they were the sort to use their fists when they’re angry.”

“Your trust in me confuses them too. Few people ever really trust us, Jas. You know that.”

“Well, most people are idiots, I’m very well aware. And I _don’t_ trust Lambert. I’m willing to give Eskel a chance, but I don’t trust Lambert as far as I can throw him. For that matter, I don’t trust Yennefer that much either, but she’s doing alright by Ciri so.” She shrugged and finished hanging up Geralt’s spare shirt in the wardrobe. One of these days, she was going to convince him that having more than one spare set of clothes wasn’t the height of overindulgence. For that matter, she’d convince him that a color other than black or plain white was okay to wear. A rich bronze, for instance, would bring out his eyes and look fantastic against his skin. “Mmm.”

She vaguely registered the door shutting while she was picturing Geralt in front of a fire in nothing but a bronze dyed shirt and a dirty smile. Large hands went around her waist and warm breath washed over her neck. “What are you thinking?” he asked, mouthing along her neck.

“How edible you look in firelight.”

“Any particular part of me?”

“All of you. I think I fancy having you by the fire – if that meets with your approval?” She felt the rumble of his growl in his chest more than heard it as he picked her up to carry her over to the fur rug in front of the fireplace.

Geralt woke her up earlier the next morning than she would have liked. She pouted up at him. “Did you want to start training?”

She pushed a lock of hair out of her face while she thought for a moment. “Well – yes. Yes I suppose I do. It seems the sensible thing, doesn’t it? I don’t expect to turn into some kind of warrior, but with what’s coming, I should probably learn to defend myself better. And I really do want to avoid getting fat,” she added, poking at her soft but flat belly. She’d seen how chubby a body could get with just a few months of idleness.

He bent to press a kiss between her breasts. “You won’t get fat – we’ll burn the food off one way or another.”

“Oh, well, if you’d rather spend all day in bed, I’m all for that. Sounds a _lot_ more pleasant!”

He gave a low chuckle and another kiss. “I’m serious, Jas. You don’t – have to do this. You don’t have to change. You know that, right?”

“Darling.” She pushed him until he was flat on his back and laid herself out over him. “I have no plans to take up monster hunting,” she said seriously. “Nor do I plan to run into any battles. I’m a bard not a soldier, and I don’t want a career change. But you _do_ have a destiny, love. With Ciri. And there will be fighting. I can’t be useless when that happens. I have to be able to help keep myself safe. I won’t have you getting yourself hurt or killed protecting me if I can help it. This isn’t much different from learning to set snares or use my dagger. Don’t fret.”

“If you’re sure.” She nodded, giving him a lingering kiss. “Alright. Then let’s go.”

She thought Geralt was a pretty good instructor. He was remarkably patient while she fumbled with the unfamiliar weight of a dull short sword, correcting her hold and her stance. It was a bit tiring and not very exciting to keep repeating the same set of moves over and over again, and in a depressingly short amount of time she could feel the muscles of her arms and back burning with the exertion. But by mid-morning, the moves to block and counter his simple attacks felt _almost_ automatic.

They took a break to let her arms recover a bit, and so she could drink her fill of nice, cold water. Then Eskel took over and started to teach her to use a bow. Her arms still felt a bit like boiled vegetables, so her showing wasn’t exactly stellar, but she was getting the arrows in the right direction at least, so she counted it a win.

When it was time to break for lunch, she made a face and headed down to the baths first. She was covered in drying sweat – and not even sex sweat! She took a fast bath and joined the rest with wet hair pulled back into a simple knot. Ciri laughed at her when she slumped tiredly against Geralt, prompting her to play it up a bit more.

“Seems to me he was taking it easy on you, bardling,” Lambert said snidely. “I can’t recall ever seeing such a gentle lesson in sword work in my life.” He gave Geralt a pointed look. “Not that we can’t see why he’d go easy on you.”

“True – if he left me covered in bruises, I doubt I’d be able to concentrate on my lessons with Yennefer, and I think none of us want to irritate the lady that can flambe us with a word,” she shot back, pretending obliviousness.

“Actually, I do believe he was referring to Geralt not wanting you out of commission for bedroom acrobatics, rather than any consideration of my precious time,” Yennefer drawled.

Ciri wrinkled her nose. “Gross!”

Jaskier patted her hand. “Don’t worry, someday you’ll find someone for that sort of thing and you won’t find it so gross.” Then she had to turn and pat Geralt’s hand as he made a protesting noise over that notion.

Yennefer flat out rolled her eyes at him. “Let’s get to it, bard, and leave Geralt to wrestle with the idea of Ciri growing up in peace.”

Stomach suddenly knotting, Jaskier rose to follow her out of the dining room.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt watched Jaskier and Yennefer leave. It was a strange sight, and not a situation he’d ever imagined himself in – watching one lover walk away with an ex. But his life had been different since the moment he’d met Jaskier, so he had grown used to strange things happening to him. He turned to Ciri. “I’ll practice with you today. Go get changed,” he instructed, nodding at the loose dress she wore for her work with Yennefer in the mornings. She lit up and ran off. He looked at Lambert. “Stop,” he said simply.

“You’ve gone soft,” Lambert told him. “The bard makes you soft.”

“The bard makes me happy.”

“Since when is happiness part of the Path?”

“Since when is it forbidden?” Lambert made a disgusted noise. “Jaskier is staying. Get over it.”

“So what, you think a soft, pampered thing like that is going to be happy traipsing about the continent from one contract to the next? She’ll get tired of it soon enough, Geralt, and walk away when she’s tired of sleeping rough, eating poorly, and dealing with monster guts.”

Geralt barked out a laugh. “I thought so too, but it’s been over twenty years and there’s no sign of it yet!”

“Because she’s still getting something out of it! She’s made her name on your work. But it _will_ become routine at some point and she will move onto the next thing to catch her interest. Witchers aren’t designed for hearth and home, and you damn well know it.”

Geralt shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’ve never met anyone as stubborn and loyal. She’s staying,” he repeated.

Lambert shook his head. “You’ve gone soft,” he repeated. “Thinking with what’s between your legs instead of your head.”

Geralt felt his lip curl in a faint snarl. “I’m no softer than I ever was, and I’ll be happy to prove it any time you like.”

“You’re a fool. We aren’t meant to mix with humans and you know it – and _don’t_ tell me she’s half elf! You didn’t even know that until recently, and she was raised human, acts human, thinks human!”

Geralt let the snarl grow. “I don’t give a fuck what you think. It isn’t your business and stay out of mine.” He could hear Ciri trotting back to them and rose, fixing Lambert with the full force of his glare. “Leave her alone – and keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

“From what the whole continent has heard, Jaskier the bard is likely to _invite_ my hands,” Lambert shot back.

It was only Ciri entering that saved Lambert’s teeth. Shunting the fury down and to the side, Geralt turned to walk outside with her.

He focused on training, putting Ciri through her paces. His Child was gifted – and how could she not be? She had inherited her physical prowess from both father and grandmother, and he knew her power was more than impressive on the magical side. Yennefer spoke of it with an unwilling touch of awe. Her determination meant that she was making full use of her natural gifts and honing them with hard won skill. The _only_ thing she was lacking was the enhanced strength of a witcher.

As their training session drew to a close, he wrapped a careful arm around her shoulders. Physical affection was easier with Jaskier, with so much history between them and the increased physicality of their relationship. He felt awkward with his parental role still, but Ciri was more than worth the effort. “You’ve done very well,” he told her. Her lemon-mint scent lightened, a note of summer rain washing through the air that he had learned meant happiness with the girl. “I am so proud of you – as I know your grandmother and parents would be as well. If you feel ready, I want to start working with you in a group, learning to fend off multiple attackers. What do you think?”

“I’m ready! I promise to work hard, Geralt, you’ll see!”

“You already do, Ciri.” He gave her a squeeze, pleased when she threw her arms around his waist to return the hug. “Come, we’ve a bit of time before dinner. Go have a soak. I think a break is in order – perhaps Jaskier will play for us again if you ask nicely.”

“Alright – and I can start teaching you to dance!” She darted away, quick feet taking her out of reach and earshot before he could protest. But why not? If that is what she would find fun, he didn’t _really_ object. And he knew Jaskier would be pleased.

Jaskier, in fact, was not pleased about much of anything. **He** staggered in to dinner looking as though he’d been extremely ill for some time, face pale and drawn, and covered with the scent of a bone deep exhaustion. He moaned and all but collapsed into Geralt’s arms when he ran to his bard’s side. “What happened?” he demanded of Yennefer, entering behind Jaskier and looking completely unruffled.

“She’s evil,” Jaskier moaned. “I’m starved – I swear to you, Geralt, I could eat an entire pig myself and have room for sweets after!”

Geralt all but carried him to the table and served up a large slab of venison. Jaskier, normally an incredibly polite eater, with courtly manners that had been ingrained in him since birth, fell on it like a starving thing. Geralt glared at Yennefer.

“Calm down, you over protective brute. He’s fine. We were practicing his shifting. He actually did rather well – forgot to keep his feet proportional a couple times, but there were no major mishaps. I simply had him shift back and forth between male and female several times. I want him able to regain his human form in his sleep if need be. The shifts do take energy, however, and the energy must come from somewhere. Hence, this.” She waved at Jaskier, who had already finished the first helping and was reaching for more meat.

With a final glare, though he couldn’t argue the point too much, Geralt turned his focus back to his bard. He added a generous portion of the carrots and potatoes, and poured a tall glass of water. In his current state, wine or ale would likely send him right to sleep, and Geralt wanted him to eat his fill before that happened. Ciri, wide eyed, passed over a large chunk of bread slathered with butter. Jaskier muttered something that might possibly resemble a thanks, and tore into that as well.

After two very full plates, the bread, and the water, color returned to Jaskier’s face. He leaned against Geralt and eyed his plate, damn near licked clean. “Oh my. That was – unexpected,” he said, sounding faintly embarrassed. “Apologies – my manners are generally better than that,” he said, mostly to Ciri.

“I used to get very hungry too, using my powers. You get used to it,” she assured him, ever generous.

“It’s a fascinating ability,” Yennefer observed. “It really does seem to be almost entirely instinctive. As long as he is familiar with the form he wants, he needs only to will it. I think it’s the changing in mass that causes the energy drain. All young things need to eat more during growth periods to fuel that growth, so it makes sense that going from a smaller form to a larger form would require energy. We’re going to work on studying animal anatomy. Once Jaskier knows the build, we’ll begin trying animal transformations.” She looked at Geralt. “Which is the other reason I want him to have the human transformation down completely – if there’s an accident during one of those shifts, the change back to human should be so ingrained as to require no real thought.”

“Looks like no harm done,” Eskel said, amusement bright in his voice. “Except perhaps to our food stores.”

Truthfully, Jaskier was perking up moment by moment, some of that exhaustion smell fading. He was giving Geralt’s plate a sideways look, and without thought, Geralt nudged it closer. Giving him a grateful look, Jaskier picked at the food.

Geralt looked at Ciri. “I think perhaps our dance lesson should wait for another night,” he suggested.

At that, however, his bard straightened completely. “Wait, hold on! Ciri, did you get this one to agree to learn to dance? Really?”

Ciri nodded, biting her lip.

“Yes!” Jaskier whooped. “My dear, you are a miracle worker. We’re not waiting another moment – if you would run and fetch my lute? I would climb off my death bed for this,” he confided so the whole room could hear.

Geralt rolled his eyes and would have protested, but Ciri was already off like a loosed arrow. Jaskier grinned at him. “I’ve been trying to get you to dance for _years_ , Geralt. I’m not about to pass up this chance.”

“You’re ridiculous, Jas,” Geralt informed him.

“Maybe – but I get to see you dance, so I’m perfectly okay with that.”

Geralt eyed him critically. The color _was_ back in his cheeks, and the exhaustion smell _had_ faded a bit, so he supposed there was little harm in dancing for an hour or so before putting him to bed.

Ciri returned with the lute held carefully and passed it over to Jaskier. Then she grabbed Geralt’s hands to pull him to his feet. He stayed put, mostly to see her huff and stomp her foot when she couldn’t budge him. He relented when Jaskier poked him in the side with an irritated finger. He was acutely aware of the eyes of Vesemir and his brothers boring into his back, and Yennefer’s vaguely amused stare. But hell, _Eskel_ had danced the day before, Geralt didn’t see why he shouldn’t. They could stuff their judgmental looks up their backsides. Ciri and Jaskier were having fun, and that was all Geralt really cared about.

He pretended to a bit more clumsiness than he truly felt over the steps, pleased when Ciri patiently guided him through them again and again, clearly proud of herself for teaching him something for a change when he appeared to ‘get it’ finally. He kept an eye on Jaskier, but so did Ciri. She called a halt as soon as Jaskier started to lose color again.

“I think I should like to start one of my new books,” she announced. Then she wagged a finger under Geralt’s nose. “We’ll be learning more dances another time, though, don’t think you’ll get out of it!”

Jaskier chuckled as he rose. “You’ll keep him on his toes, princess, don’t worry.” He passed his lute to Geralt as the princess ran off. “I’m going to have a quick bath. Would you put that away for me?”

Geralt stifled a frown and just nodded. “Of course.” He watched a yawning Jaskier wander out. He was pretty sure Jaskier wasn’t tired enough to fall asleep in the tub. Of course he’d be fine. But they always bathed together, and he wasn’t sure what prompted that pretty clear dismissal. He nodded at those remaining to go wait for Jaskier in their room.

Not a quarter of an hour later, Jaskier wandered in, damp hair curling against his nape and making a face. “I forgot to bring something clean with me, ugh.” But he smelled nervous, and it wasn’t some leftover scent on his clothes. Geralt watched him, openly frowning, as Jaskier changed into clean clothes, as he scowled at the now too short trousers but pulled them on anyway. “This is going to be just a ridiculous winter, Geralt, I can’t think why I didn’t think to go get my old clothes from storage. Well okay, to be fair, I _did_ stash them in my quarters at Oxenfurt, so it wasn’t exactly along the way. But still, failed to plan this one out.”

Geralt rose from his seat on the bed to grab wildly gesturing hands in his. “What’s wrong?”

“I just told you – none of my clothes fit!”

“Jas,” he said, letting some of his tension bleed into his tone.

Jaskier fidgeted under his gaze. Like this, they were almost of a height, so it was much easier to meet the bard’s gaze. Geralt started rubbing the hands he held, kneading at the tendons to loosen the tightness there. Jaskier sighed. “Do you – want me to change back? To Arell, I mean. Or stay in another room?”

“Why the fuck would I want either of those things?” And alright, that was probably not the best way to say that, but he was honestly really damned confused.

“We hadn’t really discussed…what would happen when I was back to myself. If you’d still…want me, like that. I can’t recall ever seeing you choose a male whore before, not that I was exactly with you every minute of the day or anything, and. I didn’t expect it to happen so soon after we got here, but the change is so much easier than I really thought it would be, and really, getting back to my normal body is just like – like putting on perfectly tailored clothes! I just –“

Geralt stopped his mouth with a kiss, shoving his tongue inside with all the hunger for his bard that was never truly sated. Jaskier moaned and kissed desperately back, pressing close so that Geralt could feel his cock hardening against his hip. He pressed closer, gripping Jaskier by the hips so that the bard could feel his own cock rising as well. Geralt pulled his mouth away reluctantly and waited for Jaskier to open his eyes. “It’s you I want – cock or cunt, whatever your form, provided it’s at least humanoid. All my imaginings of you over the years were like this anyway.”

Jaskier colored a little with embarrassment. “I – sorry, Geralt, I just…My stupid brain ran away from me.”

Geralt reached down to wrap a hand around high up on each of Jaskier’s thighs and lifted. Even back to his normal size, Jaskier’s weight was nothing for him to lift, and Jaskier’s delighted yelp and the way he wrapped his legs around his waist showed that the bard liked being hauled about. “Then let’s shut your stupid brain up,” he suggested as he walked towards the bed. He tossed Jaskier down on it and reached for the hem of his shirt. Jaskier was quick to join him, stripping off his shirt and too short trousers even faster than he’d put them on.

Geralt flung his pants somewhere behind himself and crawled up the bed until he was hovering over Jaskier, braced on his hands and knees. Slowly, he lowered his hips until his cock nudged up against Jaskier’s. Jaskier bucked his hips, gasping and reaching down to grab his ass and try to pull him tighter in. He shifted to balance on a forearm and snaked a hand down between them to wrap his fingers around Jaskier’s cock. His bard, as always, was already wet and ready for him. He slid his thumb over the leaking cockhead and brought the salty fluid to his mouth. “Mmm.” It wasn’t quite the honey sweet taste of Jaskier as a woman. Rather, it was a saltier version of his sweetgrass scent, rich on his tongue and in his nose. “I knew you would taste good,” he said. “You smell fucking amazing, always have.” He bent to shove his nose up under Jaskier’s ear, inhaling deeply. He stuck his tongue out to lick a broad stripe over his skin, feeling the faint rasp of facial hair against his tongue where before it had been smooth skin. His hand wandered over the lean chest and belly beneath him, feeling crisp hair catch against his calluses and tickle his palm. “I get to explore for the first time all over again. See if all your sensitive spots are still the same. And then, I think, I’m going to suck your cock down my throat, just to see how long you can last when I swallow around you. Maybe I’ll share your spend with you – but maybe not. Maybe I’ll keep it all for me.”

Jaskier made a strangled noise and fisted his hands in his hair, insistently pulling him in for a frantic kiss as his hips rutted up, looking for friction. With a dirty, wicked smile, he pulled away and moved down.

~

Jaskier woke slowly. The light through his eyelids was brighter than he was used to, and he cracked his lids open to see the sun higher in the sky than expected. Even more unexpected, Geralt was still in bed with him. It wasn’t unwelcome – far from it. He would never object to waking in Geralt’s arms. As far as he was concerned, he should fall asleep and wake up no other way. But he’d rather expected to be woken early for another morning of training with the sword. He stretched, enjoying the aches that came after a night of athletic sex, then slung a leg over both of Geralt’s. “Why did you let me sleep? I thought we’d be training again?”

Geralt carded a hand through his hair. “You were tired. Your lessons with Yennefer took more out of you than either of us expected.”

“True. I can’t even tell you how many times she had me shift back and forth. I lost count.”

“Does it – hurt? When she changed you back from a cat, you were screaming.”

“Hmm, yes, that was incredibly unpleasant. It was only a bit better when Dahlia altered me into Arell. But no, when I do it myself, it’s not painful. It’s… _weird_. Like sneezing in reverse, but with my whole body, inside and out.” Geralt blinked at him and he could only shrug. “I’ve no other way to put it – it’s a truly bizarre sensation, but it isn’t painful.” He rubbed his face against Geralt’s chest, enjoying the catch of Geralt’s chest hair against his morning stubble. His stomach rumbled, loudly, making both of them freeze. “Um. I may still be a tad hungry.”

Geralt chuckled quietly, chest rumbling under Jaskier’s ear. “Let’s go, fluff. First food, then we’ll train a bit.”

A little sheepishly, Jaskier hopped up and reached for his clothes, reminded all over again about their lack of planning when his ankles showed. Yennefer had witched his boots to fit, but that had been her only concession, and he was wary of asking for additional help. There had already been something…clinical about her, as she had studied his shapeshifting, and it made him uneasy. And there had been a very brief flash of something like envy that had reminded him unpleasantly of his mother’s envy when she’d been talking about not having the gift.

Geralt was pleasantly tactile as they walked down to find food, walking with his hand at the small of Jaskier’s back. He hadn’t really thought to worry about whether Geralt would still wish to share his bed until it had been time to withdraw for the evening, and the flash of nerves that had hit him was quite embarrassing in retrospect. But he had never caught a hint of desire from Geralt prior to their encounter in Breyla, and the thought of Geralt declining his advances now that he was male again had sent him running. It was stupid, of course. Geralt _had_ said he would want Jaskier no matter what he looked like, but he had still been halfway convinced that Geralt would only want him like that while he was a woman. It was possibly a sad state of affairs that he would most certainly have done it, given up his life as Jaskier the bard permanently to be Arell, if it meant he would still have Geralt’s affection.

Breakfast was located and devoured, although Jaskier made sure not to raven as he had at dinner the previous night. Hunger sated, he followed Geralt outside into the cold air. Soon enough, he was working too hard to really feel the cold as Geralt ran him through all the drills he had just learned, getting him reacquainted with his taller body and longer reach, as well his normal strength. His advantages remained the same – he was light and fast, best at dodging rather than trying to overpower. As he had no interest in bulking up to Geralt’s size, they would stick to the same style. He wasn’t attempting to become a great warrior, only to learn to better defend himself to remove part of that burden from Geralt’s shoulders.

They didn’t work quite as hard or long that day as they had the first, so when Eskel arrived with a joke about beauty sleep directed at Geralt, he made a better showing with the bow. He actually managed to hit the target, finally. He probably looked a bit of a fool cheering at what was objectively a lousy hit, but fuck it. It was improvement and he would take the win where he could find it.

His pleasure in the accomplishment earned him a delighted smile from Ciri and a mocking scoff from Lambert over lunch, but Jaskier was well versed in ignoring criticism from rude assholes and he simply tuned the brute out.

It was with considerably more trepidation that he faced his afternoon training. Yennefer had him swap back and forth between male and female four times in quick succession, and thankfully seemed satisfied when there were no mishaps – his normal feet on his Arell form _had_ been rather ridiculous, and walking hadn’t gone well.

Then she plopped a heavy tome on the table in front of him. “Oh, how…lovely.” He opened the book to a random page and felt queasy. “Or not. Very unlovely. Melitele’s tits, what is _that_?” He stared a bit horrified at the too well done illustration on the page.

Yennefer peered over his shoulder. “That would be the inner organs of a hawk. You need to study anatomy, bard. If you wish your body to function properly as anything other than human, you must know how those bodies are put together. Mammals are, largely, similar enough to cause few problems for you, I should think. But a cow, for instance, has more than one stomach, which is vital for them to properly digest food. So it’s best to know, intimately, how animals are put together before you attempt to shift into one.”

“Why would I ever want to be a cow?”

“If you are hiding from Nilfgaard’s forces, I doubt they’d look for you as one of a herd of cattle. Granted, you risk being slaughtered for dinner, but if they’re searching for you, I should think they would be uninterested in a steak dinner.” She reached over and flipped back a couple pages to an illustration of the outside of a falcon. “Further, seemingly unimportant details are in fact _very_ important. If you get the feather lengths wrong, you won’t be able to fly.”

Jaskier threw a sharp look over his shoulder at her. “Fly? You think I could fly.” He studied the bird with greater interest.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to. I would advise, to start with, that you focus on a handful of animals to study. Something useful.”

“Oh, well, where’s the cat then?” He started flipping through the pages carefully.

“A cat?” she said mockingly. “What good is a cat? Unless you’re talking one of the large varieties.”

“That too, I suppose, but I think being an ordinary cat is actually rather useful. Small, quick, easy to hide. And frankly, those claws and teeth can do a surprising amount of damage. Plus, they can hear incredibly well, scent track quite well, they have incredible balance, and can get into places larger animals couldn’t.”

“If you say so,” she said a little scornfully. She took her own seat and picked up a book. “Study the anatomy. How the bones are put together, the length of the tail, the texture of the hair. Everything. When you can visualize all of it, from the bones out and back again, let me know and you can try it. I’ll be here if you fuck it up.”

“Your faith is astounding.”

She just snorted and began to read.

Jaskier found the section that detailed domestic cats and started to study. He thought this would be the easiest, aside from his male/female switches, to master. He had spent months as a feline and he had a very good memory.

The room they were in overlooked the training yard, and soon enough, the sounds of swords clanging began to filter up to them. Jaskier couldn’t help but be a little distracted, and wandered over to the window to look down. He could see Ciri’s blond hair flying out behind her as she fought both Eskel and Geralt under Vesemir’s watchful eye. Even he could tell she was good. As he watched, she disarmed Eskel and drove the point of her practice blade into Geralt’s stomach. Had she not pulled the strike, and had Geralt not leaned back, she would definitely have given him a nasty gut wound. Geralt pulled her into a hug, clearly congratulating her.

“He’s really very good with her,” Yennefer observed. “He listened to you last winter, you know. She mentioned it when I returned. He comforted her after her nightmares rather then simply telling her all was well and to go back to sleep.”

“Good,” Jaskier said quietly. “She’s been good for him, I think. He’s definitely easier in his feelings than he was before her.”

“Being a parent can do that, from what I’ve seen.”

“Not always, but sometimes.” He thought of his own parents, and how he had never once earned a hug or smile from them. They didn’t have feelings that he could tell – not pleasant ones, at any rate.

“He certainly seems much more affectionate with you, as well. I had wondered if it was being smaller and female that did it, but his manner is unchanged today.”

Jaskier shrugged. “We talked about a great many things over the summer.”

“It’s a good look on him.” Jaskier didn’t care for the speculation in her tone, nor the way that, even from this distance, he could tell she was tracing his form with her gaze. _Remembering_ , certainly. Jaskier went back to his studies, hoping she would also return to her book. After a few more moments of watching, sensual lips curled in a faint smile, she did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is finished, i'll be proofing and posting as best i can to get the rest of it up over the next couple days. Please don't hesitate to give a shout out if you spot any errors!
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's stuck with this little project of mine. If you can believe it, it was supposed to be just a relatively short little thing centered around the original curse and then, well, all of this happened instead. 
> 
> I took some liberties with the other witchers, based solely around some brief character descriptions that i found online. So for anyone who's played the games or read the books, (i will, just haven't gotten to them yet!) i'm sorry if the other witchers are wildly ooc. 
> 
> Also also: later in the fic, the music of the Amazing Devil, Joey Batey's band, comes into play. I mean, I see a lot of their song lyrics in use, so I know that's not that unusual, but i couldn't resist tossing a lot more than that into this.
> 
> For everyone leaving comments, thank you! As i've mentioned, i'm terrible at responding, but they are read and appreciated and I love every one of them. Hope you enjoy the rest of the fic as it gets posted!

After those first couple of days, a proper routine was set. Jaskier would wake, not quite so late but definitely later than Geralt did. They would have breakfast whether Jaskier felt very hungry or not, then they would train in the yard and later, after a blizzard had blown up and dumped a couple feet of snow on them, in the indoor arena. He wasn’t as gifted with a blade as Ciri, nor with a bow, but Geralt assured him both of those skills were coming along nicely. His studies with Yennefer moved along a little bit better. He could swap between male and female in a blink, and the shifts came to tire him less and less the more he practiced them, much as the sword training came easier and tired him less the longer he worked at it, building up a new stamina in both areas.

Unfortunately, Yennefer’s remarks about Geralt were also a new routine. Noting his stamina. His remarkable physical build. His intelligence, honor, and skill. Even his sly, offbeat sense of humor. All were admired in a tone that made Jaskier want to gnash his teeth. With Lambert’s criticism of himself as an obnoxious counterpoint, pointing at all the ways that Jaskier was a hindrance to Geralt and to Ciri, there were days where it was all he could do to _not_ drape himself over Geralt’s lap and howl ownership to everyone within earshot. Geralt would not appreciate such behavior, and it would distress Ciri. The best he could do was try to tune it all out, the way he would an unappreciative audience’s jeers. His success varied day by day.

Thankfully, Geralt remained an attentive and enthusiastic lover most nights. The sting of love bites to his thighs and neck helped remind him of where Geralt’s affections lay. It was enough, though he would admit privately to himself that it would be nice to hear the words, finally. Geralt showed him his feelings as he had always done, and Jaskier was truly happy with that.

But.

But in the face of Yennefer’s blatant interest (and of course Jaskier compared himself to her, how could he not? She was _right there_ , sensual, perfect, and powerful) and Lambert’s constant pointing out of his flaws and shortcomings, well, the words would just be really nice to hear.

He would not ask for them, though. He would not mention either Yennefer’s interest nor Lambert’s snide remarks wearing him down. _Geralt_ was as contented as Jaskier had ever seen him. He was so obviously enjoying things as they were, Jaskier would have to be a true prick to ruin that.

Although when Eskel started making comments on _Yennefer’s_ attractiveness, it was almost too much. As though Jaskier wasn’t well aware that the only way he would be as beautiful was to shapeshift, which was just a cheat. He didn’t need to hear about how powerful she was. How graceful. He just _didn’t need another comparison where he obviously fell short_. It made him want to test his aim on Eskel’s backside.

But it was all fine. Just fine. He could handle things, keep it together, accept that maybe this was karma of a sort for accepting so many invitations to married peoples’ beds in his youth. He wasn’t going to be a jealous ass, when Geralt had given him no cause. He trusted Geralt, as he trusted no other in the world. It would be a disservice to him and to his honor to do otherwise.

It was a relief when his study sessions with Yennefer tapered off. He was practiced enough at his shifting that he started to only work with her one on one when he was performing a new shift, though he had not actually required her assistance at any point. It reassured Geralt to have someone there to help if things went wrong, and it was a small enough price for his lover’s peace of mind. So his afternoons were devoted to studying anatomy and the bestiaries again as he resumed his songwriting. The pressure that he’d felt having to listen to Yennefer’s comments eased. Ciri was a happy and attentive audience when he tried new songs on her, offering genuine praise and actually helpful criticism, and life was about as good as Jaskier could hope for, all things considered.

~

Ciri had come down with a cold. Geralt knew that she was otherwise a very healthy young girl, but being a stranger to illness himself, it was possible he over reacted by confining her to bed until she was feeling better. But with her red nose and the wet cough, he wasn’t going to apologize for it. She didn’t have to train all hours of the day, and the rest was the best thing for her anyway.

He brought her lunch, a bowl of hearty stew, a hunk of bread, and tea, on a tray in her room. He plumped her pillows and felt her forehead to make sure there was still no fever, and read to her for a bit out of one of the plays that Jaskier had bought her. Her eyes were drooping a bit by the time she finished eating, so he tucked her back in and took the tray of dishes back down to the kitchen to wash.

At something of loose ends, he decided to find Jaskier and perhaps see if his bard would be interested in a ‘nap’ of their own. Jaskier had been pushing himself as hard as Ciri did, and though his passion at night was undiminished, Geralt had scented the stress on him for several weeks, though it had thankfully been easing a bit in recent days.

He found Yennefer first, though. She flashed him a promising smile, eyes heavy lidded in a way he remembered all too well from their tumultuous and ill advised relationship. She’d been throwing those looks his way recently, and he wasn’t impressed.

“How’s Ciri?” she asked, the one subject that was sure to get him to stay and talk.

“Tired. Coughing a lot. If this goes on too long, I might want to contact Triss and see if she has anything that can ease it. It interrupts her rest.”

“Triss is a fair healer,” Yennefer agreed. She walked closer and laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve been rather…distant, lately. Have I somehow offended you, with training both your child and your bard?”

“Of course not, Yennefer. You know I appreciate your help with both. And I know you care for Ciri,” he pointed out.

“I do, very much so,” she agreed, for a moment entirely genuine. Then that look was back and she pressed closer. “You’ve been different, since she came into your life. It’s a good change. I’m glad I have been able to see it, and without the pull of the wish clouding things between us.”

Her scent rose up around him, lilacs and gooseberries, making his head swim. She hadn’t smelled like that since…. “Lilacs and gooseberries,” he muttered, nostrils flaring. He shook his head and tried to step back. “What are you playing at, Yennefer?” he asked, anger helping to burn through the magic clouding his mind.

“I’ve _missed_ you, Geralt. I’ve seen new sides to you, sides I think I’d like for myself. I know you feel it, too,” she breathed. She leaned up to press her lips against his, and for a moment, he responded. He literally could not help but respond.

Then a clatter made him jerk his head away in time to see Jaskier in the doorway, a cup and a skin of wine spilling at his feet. His eyes were wide and hurt, as badly as they had been that day on the mountain. Then his features shifted, melted, and in a moment, a great snow leopard stared at him with wide blue eyes. With a flick of his tail, Jaskier the leopard turned and ran, jumping nimbly through a window, glass shattering around him.

Geralt shoved Yennefer to the side and raced to the window. There was no blood on the snow below, and he could see Jaskier running easily, no sign of injury, until he rounded the corner towards the front of the keep, where the gate, he knew, was open.

He turned a furious glare on the witch. She was frowning. “You shouldn’t have been able to shrug off the scent like that,” she said. “Not unless…good gods, Geralt, do you have actual _feelings_ for the bard?”

“Of course I do,” he snapped. “I swear by all the gods, if you try anything like this again, destiny be damned, I _will_ kill you.”

He turned then and ran to their room. Winter had the mountain firmly in its grasp. Even he would be a fool to try to track Jaskier without cold weather gear – it wasn’t a great idea to try to track him _with_ it, but he would be damned himself if he didn’t try.

He ran into Vesemir as he strode towards the doors.

“What is it, what’s happened?”

Geralt looked over to where Yennefer had followed him down the stairs and stood watching. “A selfish bitch who can’t stand to see others with something she doesn’t have herself,” he bit out. “I’ll be back whenever I get back. Look after Ciri – contact Triss Merigold if she doesn’t get well in the next couple of days.” He pushed by his old mentor and took off after Jaskier.

He had to go on foot. The snow was too deep even on the path for a horse, and he had no doubt that Jaskier would avoid the path. As he was, he was supremely well suited to the weather and terrain, even more than Geralt was. His only advantage was that Jaskier was upset enough that he wasn’t making any effort to hide his tracks. They were further down the mountain than leopards typically ventured, so the large paw prints wouldn’t somehow get confused with that of another, actual, leopard. There was no wind that day either, which meant that his cedar and sweetgrass scent, made bitter with grief, lingered in the air after his passing.

But Jaskier was running, and running faster on the snow than Geralt could hope to. If the weather didn’t hold, his tracks and his scent could be obliterated, and then the only thing that he would have to help him was the tracking charm Yennefer had made. It still glowed, faintly, where it rested once more against his wrist, and pulled in the direction the tracks had gone. But the very faintness of the light within told him how quickly Jaskier was moving. Before long, the glow would die completely.

Geralt continued to follow the tracks, worried as they led further from the keep and the path, deeper into the wild mountainside. Monsters roamed the further from the keep one went. There were no habitats out there, and so the witchers didn’t bother much with the monsters that roamed. If Jaskier had stuck near the river, it would have been fine. Vesemir kept the route clear enough so there was minimal hassle when he traveled to Vespaden for additional supplies twice a year. It didn’t seem as though Jaskier was thinking clearly at all, wasn’t trying to get back to the world so much as he was simply running away. If he ran into something, one of the rare creatures still active in the winter months, he would be in a lot of trouble.

Geralt could only push himself harder and hope that Jaskier would tire and seek out some place to rest and let him catch up.


	7. Chapter 7

Jaskier ran. He ran and he ran, trying to escape the image of Yennefer in Geralt’s arms, the pair of them kissing. He couldn’t. The image was burned into his mind and swam in front of his eyes so that he barely saw the snow and trees and rocks. They were undeniably beautiful together, _right_ , as Lambert’s taunts and Eskel’s observations made clear was visible to all. The most powerful witcher, and the most powerful mage – any bard would give their arm to have such a pair to write about.

And what did Jaskier truly have to offer in the face of that? His songs? Nothing but a pittance, whatever that bitch had claimed about subtle power. His shapeshifting? A parlor trick compared to someone who could summon enough fire to wipe out an army. He had no connections, nothing. He was the unwanted halfbreed, unwanted by his elven clan, and he would be shunned by most humans if they knew. With Yennefer and Ciri, Geralt had a family that no witcher had ever had.

So he ran. The cold air burned in his lungs, and still he ran. His muscles began to scream at him, and he kept staggering. Higher up the mountain, until night fell and the temperature dropped, and exhaustion finally forced him to find shelter. It wasn’t much of a shelter, granted, but the hollow between two boulders kept the wind off, and was small enough that his own body heat was enough to keep him comfortable.

Cats couldn’t cry. Instead, his grief manifested as full body shivers. He tucked his face up against his belly, tail wrapped around until he was as small of a ball as he could make himself, and shook until he thought he’d fall apart. He shook and he shook as that horrible moment played itself out in his mind over and over: the way the weak sunlight glinted off white and black hair. The way Yennefer had been pressed up against Geralt, perfect breasts brushing that perfectly chiseled chest. Her hand gripping his arm, the dazed look on his face. Even the moment that he’d shifted, mostly on instinct, and the scent of them washed into his nose, lilacs and gooseberries mixed with burnt cloves….

His shivers stopped as that scent washed through his mind again. Geralt had only smelled of _burnt_ cloves when he was angry. He couldn’t smell it as a human, but he remembered the couple times someone had pissed him off when Jaskier had been a cat. And he remembered the mess with the djinn all too well – and he remembered Geralt’s grudging admission, days later when Jaskier had pried more of the story from him, that Yennefer had used something to get in his head – something that had smelled like lilacs and gooseberries. Jaskier hadn’t ever smelled the perfume on her in any of their encounters since.

If he could have in that moment, he would have sworn enough to bring the mountain down. She had _enchanted_ Geralt, and like a fool, Jaskier had simply run off and left him there! And now he was too tired to dare to try returning yet. Oh, but come morning, when he was rested, he would return and he’d rip her throat out to make her release Geralt if he had to. Or tell Ciri, which he thought might be even more effective.

~

The charm lost its glow an hour before sundown, but he could still see the tracks, and the charm still pulled, so Geralt kept going. When the sun went down, and even his enhanced vision wasn’t quite enough to still pick out the tracks on the snow, he downed a bottle of Cat without hesitation. His vision sharpened with the potion, he kept slogging through the knee deep snow, stopping only once to melt some with a tiny flare of igni and slake his thirst.

He kept going long into the night, until Cat finally wore off. The charm had started to glow, slightly, again. Jaskier must have finally stopped to rest. At least, he hoped that was what had happened. Jaskier was still too far away to know, and that was _killing_ him. He thought perhaps if Jaskier ran into an ordinary wild animal, he’d probably be alright. Most animals would be either prey or another predator warning off an interloper into their territory, and Jaskier wouldn’t be foolish enough to do anything but leave if that were the case. But if it were a monster – Jaskier’s teeth and claws wouldn’t do him any good. He had nothing of silver on him to defend himself.

That fear drove him on until false dawn began to glint on the horizon, and a wicked, low growl was all the warning he had. He drew his silver sword and turned to meet the pack that was moving to surround him.

~

Jaskier rested for a few hours in his little hollow, alternating between cursing Yennefer and cursing himself. Finally, before dawn was even a hinting at arriving, he stretched up out of his shelter and began to pick his way back the way he’d come. Now that he was paying attention, he was a little amazed that he hadn’t managed to break a leg on his way up. There was nothing resembling a path – he’d simply run and jumped his way up, in some places where the mountain was almost sheer! He had to force himself, against his own human fear of falling, to think of something else and let his body’s instincts take over to get him back down past the worst of the terrain. He couldn’t go as fast, he was still too tired and hadn’t eaten besides, but he found a steady loping pace that he thought he could maintain for a while before he’d need rest again.

The anger helped. It was as good of fuel as betrayed grief had been. His big, soft paws were silent on the snow, and held his weight on top instead of breaking through every other step the way he would have as a man.

Somewhere around dawn, his ears finally picked up sounds besides the breeze; something up ahead of him was growling. Several somethings, actually. The wind was to his back so he couldn’t catch the scent, but it was probably best to go around whatever it was. He would have a hard time of it if he got himself hurt tangling with some pack of beasts.

He started to make a wide loop around the source of the growling when he heard a single, sharp, and familiar “Fuck!” ring out through the mountain air. He changed direction, instinct prompting him to come in from the side, so the wind didn’t blow his scent towards what he was tracking.

He crept through the snow laden pine trees into a small clearing, where Geralt was surrounded by a dozen wargs. Jaskier had seen him fight the creatures before, but never so many at once. And not when he had to have been fighting his way through the snow for hours, all through the night, tracking his idiot lover. Without thinking, he let loose a furious wail, drawing the attention of everything in that clearing. He leapt and pounced, rolling briefly with one of the wargs until he launched it off himself with his hind legs. He flipped back to his feet and darted to Geralt’s side, snarling at the wargs around him.

“Jaskier, no, run! I’ll take care of them,” Geralt said urgently. Jaskier just shook his head, eyes locked on the creatures. “Fuck, look out!” They moved together as the wargs decided to pounce. Jaskier found himself tangling with three of them, dodging and swiping with his claws to leave deep rents in whatever flesh he was able to catch. Blood spattered the snow, brilliant red stark against pristine white as the sun finally made it over the horizon. He landed on the back of one and got his teeth into its neck. Blood, foul and bitter, flooded his mouth as he shook his head. He heard the crack as its neck snapped and jumped away as one of its companions leaped for him.

To his shock, he could see the warg with the broken neck still moving, even with its head dangling at an unnatural angle. If even that wouldn’t kill them, then – only Geralt’s sword was going to really do the job. He changed tactics, no longer really trying to kill any of them. There was no point in closing and risking getting bitten, he just needed to keep at least a few distracted until Geralt was able to take over.

He leaped into the trees as one more of the pack turned its attention on him, growling and snarling at the wargs that jumped futilely up at him. That lasted only for a minute or so until they decided to give up, and their attention turned back to Geralt. Jaskier could see three of the things dead around his feet, with five more circling him. With the three that had been trying for him joining in, Jaskier didn’t like his chances. He leaped back out of the tree onto the back of one and managed to break its neck too before its companions turned back with snapping jaws trying to clamp down onto his neck or legs. He raced away, the wargs hot on his heels, and led them into the trees. His footing was better than theirs. Their feet were narrower, concentrating their weight onto a smaller surface area, which meant that their gate was hampered by breaking through the top layer of snow. His feet were wide and designed for the terrain.

He ran in a wide circle, twice having to jump high into a tree when one tried to drive him sideways into its partner. One of them tripped, rather hilariously really, over some branches hidden beneath the snow. Jaskier pounced and raked his claws over its face, blinding it. He turned and raced away instantly as its companion leaped to its defense. The snarling back from where he’d left Geralt was rather quieter, so he headed that direction. When he broke out from the trees again, he saw only three of things left, but Geralt was also bleeding from his arm. He tackled one of the things and rolled with it, raking his hind claws against its vulnerable belly, then broke away before it could clamp its jaws on his throat. He ran back to Geralt and stood at his back, tail lashing once as the remaining wargs regrouped. There were still five, but one had its entrails peeking out and one was blind. Two lay struggling against their broken necks to stand again. Those still on their feet circled.

One darted forward, aiming for Jaskier’s flank. He twisted and swiped back. Then Geralt was there, furious, sword flashing, and its head literally rolled away. He twisted again as another leaped at him, and another head went flying.

It was too much, and the last three standing turned and left, the blind one tucked between the other two as they helped guide it away. Geralt moved and quickly cut off the head of the two with broken necks before his sword dropped and he fell to his knees in the bloody snow at Jaskier’s side. “Are you hurt?” he demanded urgently, running his hands through Jaskier’s fur to check for himself.

Jaskier shoved his face into the snow, cleaning the blood from his mouth and muzzle. Then he turned back to Geralt and shifted until he was kneeling in the snow facing him and could loop his arms around his neck. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I left, I should have known better – lilacs and gooseberries!” he said, halfway to hysterical. “What did she make you do? Gods, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize it sooner, I should have known – she’s been making comments for weeks now, and Lambert and Eskel, and when I saw her kissing you I just – but I should have known.”

“Jas, Jaskier, shh, it’s okay. Fuck, you’re naked, here.” Geralt yanked off his cloak and swung it around Jaskier’s shoulders. His arms went around him underneath it, holding him close, pressing kisses to his mouth and face in spite of the warg blood that lingered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to kiss her. I swear to you, Jaskier, I don’t want her.”

Jaskier sniffed, eyes more than a little watery. “I know – I should have known right then. I’m sorry I left. And now you’re hurt, because of me, shit. How bad is your arm, let me look at it.”

“It’s fine, it’s nothing. Won’t even need stitches. Gods, Jas, you scared me,” he admitted. Jaskier froze. Geralt had _never_ admitted to fear. Not once. “The mountains aren’t safe, even for a leopard, I was so afraid you’d run into one of the monsters – and then you jumped right into the middle of a pack of wargs! I’ve never been so afraid in my life. I can’t –“ his voice cracked. “I can’t lose you.”

“You didn’t. You won’t. I was careful, I promise I was.”

“I saw you – it was smart, jumping into the trees. They can’t climb. And breaking their necks takes time for them to heal from, that was a good idea. But fuck, it wasn’t even just that. I was afraid, after what you saw –“

“That I wouldn’t come back. But I was, Geralt. I was coming back. As soon as I could think again past that kiss – I remembered the smell. From the djinn. Lilacs and gooseberries, and you smelled like _burnt_ cloves. You _never_ smell like burnt cloves except when you’re furious.” He shivered, suddenly. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the cloak wasn’t quite enough to protect his otherwise naked frame from the frigid mountain air. Geralt swore and stood, lifting him. “Gods, I don’t even have my underthings on. I really fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. You have nothing to be sorry for. I don’t blame you for leaving – if I’d seen you in an ex’s arms, I don’t think I would have reacted any better. Fuck, I’m sure it would have been worse! You’re mine. I won’t share, and you won’t have to either. I swear it, Jas, it was just her fucking magic,” he promised, trudging through the snow back down the mountain. He paused only long enough to scoop up his sword and sheath it before continuing on.

He carried Jaskier out of the clearing, back into the trees. He went past the area of churned up snow where Jaskier had been chased by the wargs and found where one of the pine trees had fallen. The branches still retained their needles, and with the snow piled on top, created an area of bare ground beneath it. Jaskier was set down with the cloak wrapped around him while Geralt cleared the branches off the underside of the tree trunk. When he was through, it left a clear hollow beneath, with the snow and branches acting as a reasonable tent. Jaskier obediently crawled inside as Geralt quickly broke the branches into smaller pieces and started a fire – the dampness of the wood was no barrier when he used _igni_. Then he pulled Jaskier into his lap to keep him off the frigid ground.

Jaskier huddled against his chest, teeth chattering until the fire and their (mostly Geralt’s) body heat warmed their little enclosure. But it did gradually warm up, and he slowly uncurled. When he was warm enough, he snaked an arm up and around his lover’s neck, tangling his fingers in the long strands. “I tried to like her,” he said seriously. “I really did. But right now I _hate_ her for what she did, what she was trying to do. How is what she tried any different from what Rolf tried to do to me?”

“It’s not,” he admitted. “I doubt she sees it that way, but it’s not any different.”

“I know she helped me, and I know she’s been working with Ciri – they’re very fond of each other. I just – gods I am just so _angry_! I _hate_ being angry,” he complained.

“That’s alright – I can be angry for both of us. Just rest. I can tell you’re tired. Thank you, by the way,” Geralt added quietly.

“For what?”

“For realizing – for coming back.”

Jaskier tugged at his hair until he looked down to meet his eyes. “You don’t thank me for that. Not when I should have realized sooner, before I even left. I will _never_ make that mistake again,” he promised.

“I already told you, I don’t blame you for that. I know how it looked. I don’t even know how far she would have gotten if you hadn’t interrupted. I couldn’t _think_ straight, that damned smell in my nose,” he growled. “And you said she’s been making comments? And Eskel and Lambert too?”

Jaskier made a face and ducked his head, hiding a bit in Geralt’s neck. “Yes – to all of it. I think Eskel just has a crush on her, but Lambert – all he does is point out all the ways that I’m a burden to you. And she’s been commenting on all the ways and reasons she finds you attractive. None of them are _wrong_ , is the thing.”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit, Jaskier. My life is so much better with you in it. I could go on, without you, if I had to. At least long enough to get Ciri back on her throne where she belongs. But if you left…I wouldn’t last long past that. Do not _ever_ think you’re a burden to me. And do not ever think that what Yennefer feels for me is anything like what you and I feel for each other – it’s not. It’s avarice, nothing more. Desire for something out of her reach. She wants the world, but not out of any love – just a hunger for power, for _more_. The only person I think she genuinely cares about is Ciri.” Geralt gripped his hair and tugged his head back so their eyes could lock. “I **love** you,” he said, sounding half strangled with it.

Jaskier felt the tears well up in his eyes instantly. He all but slammed his mouth over Geralt’s, demanding and receiving entrance with his tongue, and did his very best to kiss the life out of his witcher. Geralt gave back as good as he got, as always, one hand wrapped around Jaskier’s neck to keep him in place, the other roaming almost frantically over the rest of him under the cloak. He moaned, deep in his chest, and turned so that he was straddling Geralt’s lap. The ground was cold beneath his knees, but it barely registered. He could feel Geralt, hard within the confines of his pants, and rocked his own hardness against him. He reached between them to open Geralt’s pants and free his erection. Then he reached into the pouch at Geralt’s waist and started to rummage through the potions. The drinkable potions had to be identified by color, but the salve he was looking for was in a slightly bigger bottle. He made a triumphant sound into Geralt’s mouth when he found it. “I need you, please, Geralt, I need you in me,” he begged, lips brushing Geralt’s. He pressed the salve into Geralt’s hand and leaned forward, thrusting his ass out in invitation.

“Fuck,” Geralt hissed. He pressed back, tumbling Jaskier onto his back, skin insulated from the ground by the cloak. Geralt uncorked the salve with his teeth and smeared a generous dollop onto his fingers before reaching between them to find Jaskier’s hole. Jaskier pulled him back into a kiss as the first finger breached him, smearing the salve around and in him, thrusting to coax the muscle to relax. They were both impatient, and a second finger joined the first very quickly, spreading and thrusting, working Jaskier open. They grazed his prostate, making him cry out into Geralt’s mouth. “So tight, fuck, how do I ever fit in you?” Geralt hissed, fingers withdrawing to work the salve down his length, coating himself until he was almost dripping with it.

Jaskier locked his ankles around Geralt’s ass and pulled, frantic to get Geralt inside him. Geralt was as eager as he was, but he still resisted the too fast thrust Jaskier was going for. He set the head of his cock against Jaskier’s opening and pushed, slow and controlled, mindful of the inadequate prep where Jaskier himself didn’t care. Jaskier clawed at his back and bit his lip, anything to get him to move faster, but he wouldn’t be swayed. Jaskier hitched his knees higher, opening himself more, until Geralt was seated as deep as he could go inside. “Perfect, gods, you’re so perfect in me,” he gasped, rocking his hips against the immovable wall that was his witcher. Geralt laced their fingers together and pressed Jaskier’s hands to the ground over his head, then started to move. Slow, at first, until the burn faded and the vice-like grip of Jaskier’s body eased a little. Then his pace picked up so that he was rutting, hard and frantic, rubbing over his prostate with every thrust.

Jaskier kept kissing him, his mouth, his cheeks, his neck, interspersed with bites and licks and hard sucks until Geralt’s neck was littered with love bites that would fade by the day’s end. He didn’t care. He just needed to leave some mark, some sign that he had been here, like this, with the man that he loved beyond all reason and who, miraculously, loved him in return and had finally _said_ so.

And Geralt gave as good as he got. Jaskier knew his own marks would be livid against his skin for _days_ , and he would wear them proudly in the face of anyone’s disapproval. Then Geralt sucked his earlobe into his mouth and bit, just right, just hard enough, and whispered hoarsely, “I love you, Jas – never gonna be anyone but you,” and Jaskier spilled between them, arching as much as he was able, pinned as he was between hands and cock, throat spilling his own vows of love in return. Geralt shoved into him, hips grinding tight circles against his ass as he spilled his release deep inside, flooding Jaskier’s passage with his hot spend.

Jaskier kept kissing him, whatever bit of skin was in reach, as they came down. Geralt, probably conscious of the way the cold was starting to creep in through the cloak, twisted them so that Jaskier lay sprawled over his chest. Jaskier held on so that Geralt wouldn’t slip out of him, greedy for that connection. He slid his hands back into Geralt’s hair and looked him straight in the eyes. “I love you, Geralt of Rivia – more than the breath in my body, more than anything in this world. I will _never_ willingly leave you.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, there was such a naked, raw love there that words entirely failed Jaskier. The language had not been invented that could do justice, but the rasped out, “And I love you – more than life. I will do _anything_ to keep you. There will never be another for me – not by my will,” came damned close.

They lay there for a time, just reveling in being close now, when they had each feared so recently that the other was lost to them. Eventually Geralt softened and slipped out of him, which made Jaskier sigh and cling a little tighter with arms and legs. Geralt tightened his hands as well, equally mourning that slight loss. But the fire started to die down, needing more fuel, and exhaustion started to pull at Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt wrapped him in the cloak in order to tend the fire, then ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt to wet it with snow. He warmed it near the fire for a minute, then cleaned Jaskier off, then himself, before absently tossing the soiled scrap out of their little shelter. He laid back down, curling around Jaskier to help keep him warm.

“Are you able to shift again?”

Jaskier hummed tiredly as he thought. “Not without rest, and maybe something to eat. I haven’t had anything since breakfast yesterday.”

“I’ll set some snares in a bit. I don’t want to go far – the remaining wargs might come back for a little revenge. Will a couple rabbits do?”

“It should be plenty. I need sleep, mostly. It’s…been a long day.”

“Alright. Just rest. I’ll go set the snares.” He rose with visible reluctance and edged out into the cold. Jasker sat up to wait. The snow was proving to be decent insulation, and with the fire built back up, it was mostly comfortable, save for the occasional slight breeze that made its way past the fire. He stared at the fire, not really seeing it. As much as he was still riding the emotional high of Geralt finally giving him those precious words, he was still furious. Last time, she had bent him to her will and used him to enact her revenge on people she had a grudge against. That had been bad enough – Geralt was at least used to being used as a weapon, however little he liked it. But to try to bend his mind to get him back into her bed, where he so clearly did not wish to be, was appalling to him on a deep, visceral level. Sharing pleasure with another should be just that – sharing. Not taking. That her method would not have caused physical pain didn’t make it any less abhorrent that what Rolf had tried to do.

He didn’t know what he would do when he saw her again, if she even had the temerity to remain at Kaer Morhen to face Geralt upon his return. He didn’t want to cause Ciri distress, and he thought he knew the girl well enough to know that them fighting would upset her – and the reason, should she learn of it, would upset her even more. But while he could act reasonably well for a short time, he didn’t think he was good enough to fool anyone for long. Not about this. Not about the sheer rage that burned in his gut over this. He had never known an anger like this before, had never thought himself capable of it. It bordered on _hate,_ which didn’t sit well with him. He resented her for making him feel it.

Geralt returned then, pulling him from those thoughts. He sighed a little when he saw him sitting there rather than sleeping but didn’t say anything. He sat close and pulled Jaskier into his side, trailing his fingers in a light trail up and down his arm. “How’s your arm?”

Geralt glanced down at where the blood had dried to his armor, like he’d forgotten the bite. “It’s fine. The armor kept it from being too deep.”

“I’ll stitch it when we get back. After a bath.” He let his head rest on Geralt’s shoulder and went back to staring at the fire. “Thank you,” he said quietly, after a time. “For the words – I knew you felt it, but it was…good, to hear them.”

“I should have said them sooner. They aren’t so difficult to say.”

“How often have you said them?”

“Not since I was a boy, to my mother.”

“Then they would be very hard to say. It’s alright, I knew that. You gave them to me when you could. You gave them to me in other ways until then.” He turned his head to brush his lips over Geralt’s jaw. “I do so love you, witcher-mine. I am so very glad, every day, that I chose to sing in that miserable little tavern. Even though the audience was so very boorish.”

“I’m glad I chose to drink in that miserable little tavern, even though the ale was so bad.”

He chuckled a little and let his eyes drift closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did anyone else have any issues with that whole orgy scene? I mean, from the confusion of the participants when she ended the spell, it didn't seem like they'd signed on knowingly. I try not to dislike Yennefer, but I have some pretty big issues with some of what she does. But yeah.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part for the night. the third is really coming along!

They stayed in their makeshift tent for the rest of that day and through the night. Geralt’s snares bore fruit, and Jaskier was able to eat his fill of the rabbits. When he slept, it was sprawled across Geralt’s chest with the cloak covering them both. He was pretty sure Geralt only meditated, ever alert to danger, but he wasn’t worried about it yet. Provided he didn’t have to go several days with nothing but meditation to refresh himself, one night of it wouldn’t drain him too much. When he woke again the next morning, he felt a hundred times better. The fire had burned down to embers, though, and their hut had grown chilled again. It was time to return. After a lingering good morning kiss, he passed Geralt’s rather soiled cloak back, took a breath, and shifted once more into the snow leopard.

Geralt ran a hand down his back, humming approvingly. “Well chosen form, fluff. Warm enough?”

He nodded, then curled his body to rub against Geralt’s legs. Like this, he could smell so much more – his scent left behind on Geralt, their mingled sweat and semen, the lingering traces of the cooked rabbits. He could even smell faint traces of the squirrels and birds that had once called the tree they sheltered under home. He chuffed, stretched, then looked pointedly down the mountain in the direction they needed to go. Together, they set out back towards the keep.

With his head clear, Jaskier was able to pay more attention to both his surroundings and himself. He had studied the big cat’s form for quite some time, along with a few other creatures that he thought would be useful, but until that awful moment at the keep, he hadn’t changed into one. He was lucky that he had studied so closely, so that he could probably re-draw one from the bones outward, or he might have truly fucked it up by changing in such a hasty fashion. But he had gotten it right, and his body moved easily across the snow. His fur was so dense that it may as well have been a lovely summer’s day instead of the dead of winter halfway up a mountain. His feet made almost no sound on the ground, and his tail was almost as long as his body and seemed to act as a kind of balance, even more so than when he’d been a simple farm cat.

He easily kept pace with Geralt, occasionally brushing up against his legs as they walked. Under other circumstances, it would have been pleasant. Kind of was anyway, even if Jaskier was dreading what might be waiting for them. But they were at least making good time, or at least he thought they were. It certainly offered alternatives for faster traveling in the future, should they need extra speed.

The keep wasn’t in sight yet, but the rising wind brought the scent of it – mostly of smoke and cooking meat and, faintly, the horses in the stables – to his nose shortly before sundown. But he also caught another scent that distracted him and he paused, head swiveling. Geralt stopped with him, eyebrow raised in question. Jaskier followed the smell, crouched low to the ground and careful with his footsteps. Geralt followed, equally quiet. A couple hundred yards off their path, a deer had crept out of hiding and was nibbling twigs, ears swiveling to catch every faint rustle. Geralt paused, Jaskier paused, and then he exploded into motion, bounding ahead further than he could have dreamed. He was almost surprised enough at the distance he could clear to miss, but his claws still snagged on the hind quarters of the deer that had also exploded into motion. It staggered but righted itself, and the chase was on. The deer tried to run in a curved path, but it was easy enough to make another leap and cut it off. He landed on it, teeth sinking into its neck. He clamped down and gave a single, good shake, and heard the snap of its neck. The blood had flooded his mouth, disgusting to his human mind, but his tongue didn’t want to curl away from it the way it had with the warg blood.

With his jaw clamped onto the carcass, he turned to drag it back to where Geralt was waiting. He felt a little silly. His walk was rather awkward with a full grown deer to drag. But he was also rather proud of himself. His skill with hitting a moving target was still iffy with the bow, but like this, if he let the instincts inherent to the form take over, he was much more useful. They were often in need of fresh meat to keep their bellies full, and for once it had been Jaskier that contributed more than the small game he could trap with snares.

Geralt took the carcass from him and did a quick field dressing while Jaskier indulged his human brain and repeatedly rinsed his mouth with snow to get rid of the taste of blood. By the time he was done, Geralt was ready to sling the carcass over his shoulder and continue on to the keep.

They found the gate open and waiting for them, and Vesemir greeted them at the entrance. “That was a dramatic exit for a hunting trip,” he grunted, taking in their appearance.

“The deer was a side trip on our way back. How’s Ciri?”

“Recovering and confused about why you both left in such a way. I can’t say as I blame her. I’ve been wondering that myself.”

“Yennefer,” Geralt growled. “She tried to take something that was not on offer.”

“Hmm. She been rather tight lipped about what happened.”

“She would be. Where is she? We need to… _talk_.”

“The hall. Dinner just finished. Try not to break anything during your _talk_. I’ll finish cleaning the deer.” Vesemir didn’t even grunt when Geralt slung the carcass at him.

Jaskier walked with him into the hall. Yennefer, Eskel, and Lambert were sitting in front of the fire. She looked up when they entered and didn’t look even the slightest bit worried or apologetic.

“I see you managed to find your wayward bard,” she observed. “So dramatic, honestly.”

Jaskier lost it. With a snarl, he leaped across the hall, aiming for her neck. Her hands came up and an invisible force shoved him away. Then he felt something, an outside force on that place in his mind that controlled his shifting, and he felt it trying to twist him. He hissed, the sound an odd mix of human and leopard, and _yanked_ the control back from her. Her face twisted in shock and he leaped again, and that time managed to connect. His jaws clamped down on her throat and his back feet came to rest against her soft belly as he took her, chair and all, to the floor, and he held on against the magical force that tried to pry him off.

He smelled Geralt before he heard him, and then saw the tip of a sword come into his view. The force stopped pushing at him. He could hear and feel the witch’s heart thundering. “Yennefer. I believe we are owed an apology. Your little stunt was inappropriate, don’t you think? You do not use magic on anyone in this keep _ever_ again, outside of life saving efforts. Are we clear? If you attempt to bend me or anyone else to your will again, I _will_ kill you. Being capable of a thing does not give you the right to do it.” Geralt’s voice sounded fairly mild, but Jaskier could smell the burnt quality of his clove scent, and knew he was furious. And there was steel beneath the mild tone, and he knew Geralt’s eyes would be blazing.

Very slightly, Jaskier felt her nod against his hold. Growling his own warning, he slowly released her and backed up. His tail lashed with his fury and he had to pace for a minute, surveying the other witchers in the room. Both were eyeing him a little warily, but there was no fear smell on them. If anything, Lambert actually seemed ever so faintly impressed. Jaskier hissed at him, because fuck him anyway. Then he paced behind Geralt and shifted, automatically taking the now rather rank cloak from him to cover his form. “If you try to steal his mind from him again, witch, I _will_ find a way to kill you,” he snarled. “And you don’t ever try to touch my shifting again, either – I felt you,” he confirmed. “Stay out of my head.”

“I’ve helped you,” she snapped. “This is my thanks?”

Jaskier glared. “What thanks do you deserve, after what you did? One act of help does not excuse trying to steal the will of someone and making them into your personal sex puppet! If he still _wanted_ you, he would _be_ with you. Learn to take a no!”

She rubbed her throat, where his teeth had left bruising but hadn’t punctured. “I’ve got the no, loud and clear.”

“Good. Then we shouldn’t need to have this conversation again, and Ciri need not hear about it. Because even a child could tell you what you did was wrong.” He glanced at Geralt, who nodded and put his sword away.

“I’ve got to admit, that was impressive,” Lambert observed as the tension began to dissipate. “Not many could take a sorcerous of her power to the floor like that.”

“And you can go fuck yourself too,” Jaskier snapped. “No one here gives a _fuck_ for the opinion of a second rate witcher, so take your judgmental attitude and snide comments and fuck yourself with them – no one else will, that’s for damned certain! And take a bath – you reek of onions!”

Lambert’s face shifted, shock and anger warring for supremacy. He devolved into outrage as Eskel burst out laughing. “He’s got a point! You’re over fond of onions, Lambert, and you know it,” he said through chuckles.

“I think we’re done here,” Geralt said, giving the outraged witcher a warning look. “We’re going to have a bath and then dinner, and I don’t want any of you bothering us unless Nifgaard is invading.” He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist to tow him out of the room. They went up the stairs, Jaskier muttering the whole way, still not entirely free of the anger. Geralt stripped out of his armor once they were in their room, then collected clean clothes for both of them to take down to the baths.

Once ensconced in the delightfully hot water, Geralt started to knead the tension out of his shoulders. As the knots released one by one, Jaskier worked to release the anger. He didn’t think he had ever been so close to killing an actual person before in his life. He didn’t like it. It wasn’t a good feeling. But he also knew, without a doubt, that he would follow through if Yennefer or anyone else tried something like that again, and he wasn’t sure he would have it in him to regret the death if and when that happened.

“Try not to dwell on it,” Geralt murmured in his ear. “You did what was needful, no more.”

“Is this what you feel all the time? This burning desire to just – get rid of whatever is threatening people?”

“Not people, Jas. You, and Ciri. I’ll protect anyone, but that fury? That’s just for the two of you.”

“Gods, no wonder you almost killed Rolf,” he sighed. He tipped back to lean against Geralt’s chest. The anger _was_ fading, albeit slowly. It was over. Things could return to normal, or whatever normal would look like going forward. He was pretty sure Yennefer wouldn’t try anything like that again, at least not on him and Geralt. And Lambert might even stop being such a prick all the time…. “Holy hells, I can’t believe I told a witcher to go fuck himself. Do you think he’ll try to break my arm? Or kill me?”

“Not if he’s got the slightest bit of sense. And he had it coming. But I thought you found the smell of onions heroic?” Geralt teased.

“Only on you!” he laughed. “On him, it’s just rank.”

“You’re biased.”

“Of course – I love you. I love the way you smell almost always.”

“Almost always?”

“Come on, Geralt. Even you can’t make the smell of selkiemore guts attractive.”

“That’s fair.” He reached for the soap and started washing Jaskier’s hair. In a seemingly whimsical mood, he twisted the sudsy strands into spikes atop his head and then laughed. Jaskier chuckled with him and just let him play as he took the soap to start washing Geralt’s chest and arms. He was pleased to see that the warg bite really wasn’t that bad once he washed it. There were puncture wounds, but they were reasonably shallow and already healing. He still placed feather light kisses over them.

By the time they were both scrubbed clean, they were also both interested in something more than washing. Geralt caught his hands as he reached between his witcher’s legs. “I’ve something else in mind – we’ll need oil.” He nipped lightly at Jaskier’s bottom lip, teasing. “I mean to have you in me tonight, bard. Let’s go grab food to take to our room.”

“We could just go straight to our room – I’m not _that_ hungry. Not for food,” he added pointedly.

“You’ll need your strength.”

Groaning his want, Jaskier followed him out of the tub and dried and dressed himself in record time.

~

The morning after their return, Geralt woke to the feel of his bard’s mouth on his cock and fingers sliding into him. He spread his legs and fisted his hands in fine brown hair as he let his hips rock up and between both sensations. Jaskier hummed around his mouthful, adding a delightful vibration to the feelings overwhelming his senses. When he was close, he pulled insistently at the hair in his hands until Jaskier obediently slid up his body, sucking and nipping at his stomach and chest along the way. Geralt took his mouth as he reached down to guide his lover’s cock into him, wrapping his legs around the trim waist. Between last night’s mess still leaking from him and the fresh oil Jaskier had coated his length with, he slid home easily and began to rock. His cock was right up against his prostate, and every slide in and out sent shudders through Geralt’s frame. Far too soon he spilled between them, slicking the hair that covered their chests. Jaskier groaned into his mouth and sped up, quickly adding to the mess inside of him. Geralt stroked down his back with long sweeps of his hands as they calmed.

“You’re right,” he rumbled eventually. “That is a fantastic way to be woken.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed in agreement. He was busy sucking a fresh mark into his neck and only lifted his head when Geralt was marked to his satisfaction. “I told you. It’s so rare for me to wake up before you. You must have been tired.”

Geralt shrugged a little. “A bit. You certainly made sure I was relaxed enough to sleep well.” Jaskier preened a bit under the compliment. It took so little, really, to please his bard. His normal appearance gave the impression that he was high maintenance, but Geralt had found that wasn’t the case. Sure, Jaskier enjoyed sleeping in a bed, hot baths, and good food – but then, who didn’t? The clothes he normally chose tended towards expensive, tailored to his frame and brightly colored, and he did bitch quite a bit when they were damaged. But Geralt had learned that they were largely for show – for the image they projected that was part of the experience that Jaskier provided, and the expense and bother of replacing them when ruined was what bothered Jaskier most. He didn’t actually seem to enjoy having to stand still for the fittings or wasting coin that could be better spent elsewhere. What Jaskier actually _preferred_ to wear tended towards simple and comfortable. Lately that meant him sneaking whichever shirt Geralt himself wasn’t wearing, as long as it wasn’t actually rank with old filth.

“It was my pleasure. Always.” Jaskier gave him a lingering kiss. “Love you, witcher-mine.”

“Love you, fluff.” The words were getting easier to say, and the way Jaskier’s eyes lit up each time made the effort worthwhile. He ran his hand through Jaskier’s hair, which was _extremely_ fluffy at present. His hands had done that, running though the strands over and over as they dried the night before. “I want to check on Ciri this morning.”

“What will you tell her about why we left?”

“That depends on what she already knows. If no one told her what happened, then I don’t think she needs the details. That we quarreled over a mistake should suffice. She and Yennefer care for each other. I don’t wish to interfere with that.”

“Nor do I,” Jaskier agreed. He pushed himself up and off the bed to fetch a cloth. He wet it in the basin of water they kept by the fire to keep it warm, then brought it over to clean Geralt, and then himself, with before tossing it vaguely behind himself. Geralt wanted to pull him back into bed and get them both dirty again, but the sun was high enough in the sky that the others would all be up and about, and he really needed to check on Ciri.

Jaskier seemed to know that since he only bent over for another kiss before reaching for their clothes. “You go check on Ciri while I find us some food. Then sword practice?”

Geralt nodded as he slid his pants up. “That works.” The finished dressing, and Jaskier fussed over his hair, wetting his brush before pulling it through. The effort was only minimally successful – his hair was definitely not behaving as his bard would wish. Geralt didn’t help matters when he walked up behind him to nibble on the side of his neck while running his fingers once again through the wild mess. Mostly just to enjoy the feeling, but also a little to hear Jaskier huff out a frustrated sigh and then laugh. “Leave it. It will only get wild again during training.”

“I suppose so. Let’s try not to rip my clothes, though – I’m running out. My other set didn’t fair very well when I shifted.”

“We’ve gold enough left over from the werewolf to buy you more in the spring.”

“But I _do_ need to be dressed when we’re outside this room, Geralt. I’m down to two sets, unless I shift and wear the dresses.”

“You could wear them without shifting.”

“Are you mad? My shoulders are too broad like this. At best they’d stretch, at worst they’d rip.”

“Picky,” he sighed. He nibbled a bit more at the tempting column of flesh under his lips before stepping away. “I’ll go see Ciri.”

“I’ll see you down in the kitchen.” Jaskier gave him a parting kiss as they separated in the doorway and walked away humming some new tune.

He made his way down the corridor to Ciri’s room. When he knocked, a very grumpy voice told him to come in. When he entered, he found Ciri sitting in bed, nose only a little pink, and looking extremely discontented with the world. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I am! But you’ve been gone for days, and so has Jaskier, and no one will tell me where you’ve been, and Vesemir won’t let me out of bed,” she burst out. “What happened? Why did you go? It wasn’t your turn to hunt.”

“True. There was…a misunderstanding. Jaskier thought my…affections had strayed. He left and I had to go find him. But he was already on the way back – he had realized it was a misunderstanding. We’ve talked it out, and nothing like that will happen again.” He reached down and felt her forehead, finding her temperature normal. “I don’t think you’re completely well, so I don’t want you training today. But if you’d like, you can come watch Jaskier,” he offered, mostly to distract her from asking any further questions. But her breathing really was better, and it was clear that she had enough energy for temper. He couldn’t see the harm in letting her watch.

She brightened immediately at the offer and threw back the covers. “I’ll be right down!”

He waited outside her room for her to dress. When she came out, he noticed that her cuffs rode high on her wrists and her trousers were high at the ankle – Jaskier wasn’t the only one to need new clothes. She was growing fast.

“Do you think Jaskier will shift for me? I haven’t seen him do it. It must be so neat to be able to be whatever shape you wanted. I think I would be a falcon. I know everyone calls me the lion cub, but could you imagine being able to just fly away, wherever you wanted? I would definitely choose a bird of some kind, and falcons are fast.” She continued chattering as they made their way down to the kitchen. They found Jaskier there cooking a bunch of eggs, with bread warming on the top of the stove. He looked up and grinned when he saw them.

“Hello, sweeting! You must be feeling better if this one let you out of bed. Hungry?” he offered, hand hovering over the basket of eggs.

“No – Vesemir brought up porridge earlier. Thank you,” she added, ever polite, even as her tone made her feelings on porridge clear.

“Well, it’s good for you when you’re sick. But perhaps we’ll have something a bit more substantial at lunch,” Jaskier offered, rather diplomatically.

“Ciri was just wondering if you’d be willing to demonstrate your shifting for her,” Geralt offered.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose a little as he started scooping the eggs onto two plates. “I suppose – but why? Anything in particular you’d want to see?” They sat around the tiny table that was used when there were only a couple people in residence and started to eat.

“A bird! I’d love to be able to fly.”

“Ah! Well, I’ve been studying a hawk’s anatomy, but it’s a bit daunting to think about trying to move in a whole new way. I can walk fine on two feet, and four feet is easier than you might think, but flying? I do want to try it – so useful! But I’ve seen baby birds learning to fly and it doesn’t appear to be entirely easy for them, and they’re literally born to do it. But I’ve mastered the cat shifts.”

“You _were_ awfully cute as a kitty.”

Jaskier ducked his head a little and blinked up at them playfully. “Was I? What do you think, Geralt, was I a cute kitty?”

“Bit scrawny, actually.”

Jaskier sniffed at him. “Svelte, Geralt. Svelte is the word you’re looking for.”

Geralt pretended to think about it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, scrawny is definitely the word. I don’t think he was a very good hunter,” he pretended to confide to Ciri.

“Ha! Tell that to the deer!” Jaskier shot back.

Ciri cocked her head. “You hunted a deer while you were a kitty?”

“Oh, this was just yesterday. I shifted into a snow leopard – they’re very well suited to the mountain terrain. Brought back a fresh deer.” Then he made a face. “Not my favorite why to obtain dinner, took ages to get the taste out of my mouth. I will grant you that I never tried while I was under the curse. I don’t know why anyone would think I wanted to. Perhaps if I was literally starving to death I could bring myself to eat a mouse, but that’s the only way that would ever happen. Besides,” he added, “I didn’t have to hunt then. Geralt did all the work, and cooked it all up rather nicely.”

“Because you weren’t just scrawny, you were picky, too.”

“I have rather refined tastes, Geralt, this isn’t news to you at this point.”

“And you’re with…him?” Ciri said, pointing at Geralt as he sopped up yolk with his bread and shoved it into his mouth.

Jaskier grinned at her. “Of course. Only the best for me.” His tone said he was really quite serious as he said that and Geralt paused and stared at him. He really wanted to pull his bard across the table and ravage his mouth for that.

“Gross,” Ciri muttered, jabbing a pointy elbow into his side. “Stop that – you remind me of how grandmother looked at Eist.”

“Lucky Eist,” Jaskier told her.

“Gross!”

Jaskier laughed at her exaggerated distress, totally unrepentant. Geralt washed the last of his breakfast down with water, then stood to put the dishes to soak in the sink. “You can get him back while he’s training,” Geralt advised. “He’s still a bit clumsy when it comes to blocking.”

Ciri wasn’t the only one to join them for practice. Eskel showed up early, and he had Lambert with him. Jaskier showed a little irritation over his presence but shrugged it off. Geralt did his best to take up his attention, running him through the forms. Neither of them were pleased when Lambert interrupted. He came with hands held peaceably to the sides, and with a fairly diffident tone offered to take over sparring so that Geralt could more closely observe what Jaskier was doing. Jaskier shrugged when Geralt raised an eyebrow at him so he offered the dull practice sword up and stepped back. He hoped that Lambert was getting over his objection to, basically, Jaskier as a whole, and thought that perhaps this was his version of a peace offering.

It began well enough, Lambert moving with appropriate speed and strength for someone of Jaskier’s skill level. Then, in a blink, he pressed the attack at almost top speed, driving Jaskier back, metal clanging on metal. Geralt started forward as Jaskier stumbled and Lambert took advantage, driving the hilt of his sword towards Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around his own sword hilt. In a blink, the leopard stood where Jaskier had been and lunged, grabbing Lambert’s wrist between his teeth with crushing force. Geralt reached them as Lambert roared and moved to kick Jaskier in the side. He grabbed the other witcher by the scruff of the neck and threw him. Eskel stepped between to hold Lambert back when the other man would have shot to his feet again.

“What the fuck was that?” Geralt snarled. “You could have crushed his fingers!”

“I wanted to see what the little braggart is actually made of! He broke my fucking wrist,” Lambert snarled back. “You would have us trust him with the princess, do you really expect us to not test him?”

“Bullshit,” Geralt snapped. “You’re fucking pissed he doesn’t cow to you and nothing more.”

“He shows us no respect. He’s disrupted the entire keep, with his music and his emotional outbursts, he had Ciri worried because his little feelings were hurt and he ran off, he treats training like a game, our knowledge is nothing but fodder for his songs to build his reputation on – this is **our** home, Geralt. You’ve given him run of the place and he’s done nothing but insult us since he’s gotten here. The least he could do is take his training seriously – if he can’t fend off just one of us, how is he supposed to help defend Ciri?”

“He’s done nothing but tolerate your insults since he stepped foot in the place,” Geralt corrected furiously. “He ignored them almost entirely, until he was pushed too far. And it seems to me he fended you off pretty well – how’s that wrist?” he taunted. “I am _sick_ of telling you to back off. You aren’t required to like him, but you _are_ required to not harm him. That shit you just pulled? Be glad my child is watching or you wouldn’t just have a crushed wrist. You’d be minus a hand.” He advanced, so angry he was almost shaking with it, and Eskel shifted from holding back Lambert to shielding him.

“Don’t, Geralt. Don’t do something you’ll regret,” he warned.

“What makes you think I’d regret it?”

“He’s just jealous!” Eskel yelped when Geralt started to shove him away. Geralt paused as Lambert swore denials. “Oh, fuck off already, Lambert. I’m sick of your attitude too. You’re jealous that Geralt found something no witcher ever has, something you want for yourself.” Eskel pushed him back a few steps, increasing the distance between him and Lambert. “It’s not that he wants Jaskier himself,” he explained quietly. “But what you have with him? Geralt, which one of us _wouldn’t_ want something like that? Your bard accepts all of you. The mutations, the reputation, the hunts, all of it. He’s traveled with you for years, enduring the hardships of the road, the danger, even the attitude that other humans must have thrown his way because of his friendship and now liaison he’s got with you. Add in the Child Surprise, and fuck, most of us are green with envy. He’s just a bigger prick about it than the rest of us. He doesn’t want to believe it’s real, so he’s being a bastard to your bard thinking it will drive him away and prove that a relationship can’t really survive for one of us.”

“Far be it from me to cause such distress to one of my brothers.” Geralt met Lambert’s gaze. “Once the roads are clear, you may be sure I will take my lover and my child from here and you need not concern yourself with my relationships again.” He turned his back on the man and found Jaskier coiled around Ciri who was clutching at his fur and watching it all with wide, watery eyes. “Come, Ciri, let’s go. We will practice another day.” He scooped up Jaskier’s shredded clothing, scowling for a moment as he realized his lover was down another set.

“Geralt, wait!” Lambert called.

“Why? So you can tell me more ways in which my life and choices are wrong?”

“No, you ass, so I can –“

Jaskier growled at him, lips curled up away from his teeth in warning.

“I mean,” Lambert corrected himself. “So I can apologize. You don’t need to endanger Ciri over this.”

“I can protect her just fine, even outside of these walls if I must. I will not remain where Jaskier isn’t safe. He doesn’t heal like we do, you fuck. What you tried to do would have left his hand permanently damaged. Why the fuck would you think I would allow him to remain here when you have violated not just my trust in you, but all the training we have received, the code by which we live? We don’t hurt innocent people!”

“I know that!” Lambert got to his feet finally. There was, finally, something besides belligerence in his manner and scent: shame. Geralt paused at that. “Eskel…was not wrong,” he said grudgingly. “You have what I thought impossible for one of us. You have _always_ been special. Chosen for extra training, extra mutagens. You were favored by the Elders when we trained, but. They made you different enough that you couldn’t even blend in. Selfishly, I told myself it balanced out. You had more amongst our kind but less out in the world. And then you came here, and you’ve a child, and a mate, and it pissed me off. I have taken lovers before, Geralt, and been rejected when they understood what my life involved. I…have much to think on. I regret trying to harm your mate. It was wrong of me. Do not endanger your child because I have been so petty and blind to my own failings.”

“We’ll see,” Geralt bit out. He escorted his lover and child back to the living quarters. Jaskier vanished with a flick of the tail into their room, but rejoined them a few minutes later in the last of his clothing. Geralt had, by then, tucked Ciri up in bed and was holding her as she worried. Jaskier climbed up on her other side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as well. He was angry and worried but doing an admirable job of hiding both. “See, Jaskier is fine,” Geralt murmured.

“I just – is it really so bad, for witchers?” she asked in a small voice.

“Not so bad. Not anymore,” he assured her, giving Jaskier a warm look. “But it was, once. Not very long ago. Jaskier really did help a lot with that. I don’t know if it will ever be _good_ , but we’re rarely driven out of towns anymore.”

“But Lambert –“

“Don’t mind Lambert, if you can help it, sweeting. It hurts, when you’re rejected. And then to see another who is happy when you’re not? That hurts all over again. People don’t always react the best when they’re hurting. Like when they’re afraid and do things they wouldn’t normally. Pain can do the same thing,” Jaskier explained.

“Will we really leave in the spring?”

“I don’t know. Kaer Morhen is the safest place for you right now, but I won’t have Jaskier at risk because my brothers can’t control themselves.”

“I was going to ask to come with you this spring anyway,” she said, sounding a little shamefaced. “But I wanted it to be because I’m ready, not like this.”

“It’s something we’ll have to talk about. Now isn’t the time to make a decision,” Jaskier said firmly. “For any of us. We all need to calm down and consider things objectively. Your job right now is to finish getting well and resume your studies. We can’t leave for several weeks yet anyway, there’s time. And if Lambert truly is sorry, we’ve got weeks to hash things out. Try not to worry too much, sweeting.”

“Okay. I’ll try.”

“You’re done in, that cold really has taken it out of you. Why don’t you try to nap, I’ll bring you up something to eat later, hmm? I can bring my lute, maybe start teaching you to play.”

She gave him a wan smile and nodded. Geralt tucked her in, stroking her hair back from her face as she settled and closed her eyes. After a couple minutes, her breathing and heartbeat began to slow to the rhythm of sleep and he quietly withdrew, Jaskier at his side.

Once her door was shut he yanked Jaskier into his arms. “I want to kill him,” he growled, finally letting go of the restraints on his anger. “I can’t believe he tried that, if you hadn’t shifted in time….”

“I know. I shouldn’t have broken his wrist though. That was too far, I just reacted.”

“You don’t apologize for defending yourself. He’ll heal. Your hand would not have – not correctly. Not well enough to play.” Jaskier’s hand flexed against his chest, and Geralt knew he was thinking of it. Not being able to play right, ever again. “We’ll have to decide what to do. I don’t know if I can trust him around you or Ciri again. To try something like that, over jealousy?”

“Better me than Ciri,” Jaskier pointed out.

“It should have been neither.”

Jaskier kissed him. “I’m sorry. I know what it is, to not be able to trust your brother.” His lips quirked in something like a smile. “Mine were always tattling on me. When I would wander off to read stories, or sneak down to listen to a minstrel singing instead of studying. Got me strapped more than once. I seem to bring it out in people, really, even as a kid.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. It’s not your fault, Jas. Lambert is responsible for his own actions, it’s nothing to do with you.” He knocked their foreheads together. “I’ve told you before, don’t take blame that isn’t yours.”

“I’m just saying, I annoy people after a while. To be completely fair, he’s annoyed me since we met. I just hate the thought of you on the outs with him. He’s your brother. You’re supposed to be able to rely on your brothers to stand by you, and until I came along, you could.”

“I think Eskel is right. It’s not exactly you, Jaskier. It’s that you love me. And I won’t trade that for anything. Don’t ask me to.” He heard a snuffling noise from the room behind them and realized they were still standing in front of Ciri’s door. He guided Jaskier away, down the hall to the room they shared. “Would you like to know how the myth of the unfeeling witcher started?” he asked, pulling Jaskier down to sit on his lap in front of the fire. It was a tight fit in a chair meant for one, but he wanted his bard close.

“I – do? Of course I do, Geralt. I want to know everything about you, but only what _you choose_ to share.” Jaskier cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. You’re entitled to privacy, witcher-mine. Don’t let the situation make you feel like you have to share something you really don’t want to.”

“It’s not – a secret, exactly. I’m not ashamed of it, there’s no reason to be. Back in the beginning, the earliest of us recognized that, with our enhancements, we could obviously do more damage than a normal human. So losing our temper and punching someone wasn’t really an option, not for us, not when a punch that would normally just bruise could do real damage coming from us. That where the meditation began. That it can substitute for sleep and help us purge the toxins from our bodies was a happy side effect. But the original purpose was to help us gain control over our emotions. It isn’t that we don’t feel, obviously, it’s that we’re taught until it’s ingrained to keep control, not show them.” He grimaced. “Obviously, I lost that control on the mountain with you –“

Jaskier put his hand over his mouth. “Stop. If the next words out of your mouth are any sort of apology, I don’t want to hear it. You’ve been forgiven for a long time, love.”

Geralt reached up to remove his hand, placing a fast kiss to the palm before lacing their fingers. “It wasn’t, although I will never _not_ be sorry. It’s that even during that loss, I still kept my head and committed no violence. Lambert failed in that. He’s been dour, even by my standards, for years. But to lose control and try to harm you? On some level, he knew what that blow would mean for you. That you couldn’t play again, after that.”

“Not the lute, certainly,” Jaskier agreed. “Although, there are other instruments….but yes. It would make things difficult to remain a traveling bard.”

“Exactly. That was intentional, and I don’t know if I can look past that. By now, Vesemir knows what happened. Eskel would have told him. I don’t know what the consequences will be on that end, but for me….Even with his apology, with facing up to his own feelings and motivations, I don’t know that I’ll ever be willing to trust him with your or Ciri again.”

“We need to wait and see,” Jaskier said firmly. “Don’t write him off yet, Geralt. I know you guys are all loners through most of the year, but you still enjoy spending time with your brothers. Who else knows your life so well? As much as I am with you, I am not a witcher. I don’t share that with you. Don’t cut him off if you don’t absolutely have to.”

Geralt sighed and let his head rest against the back of the chair. “You never cease to amaze, fluff. He attacked _you_ , and you’re willing to wait and see if he deserves another chance.”

Jaskier fiddled with the lace on his shirt. “Geralt…if you break with him, there will be ripples. It will put a strain on your relationship with the other witchers. It isn’t a good feeling, being shut out by your own. If he’s really sorry, if he does better in the future, maybe he deserves that chance.”

Geralt pulled him close, hating that there was nothing he could do to ease the ache in his lover’s voice. “You are my own,” he said, inadequate as it might be. “Blood and bone, _you_ are my own.” Jaskier sighed into his neck and squeezed his hand, and he could only hope that his words had been of _some_ comfort. Then he started to hum, a familiar tune, if slightly altered from the one other time he’d heard it.

“ _My love, my love, my fearless love_

_I will not say goodbye_

_Sea may rise, sky may fall_

_My love will never die”_

Jaskier’s smooth voice crooned in his ear. Rather than a goodbye to a love no longer there, there was nothing but promise in the words this time. A reassurance that no matter what happened, his love would remain the same. It still hurt a little to hear, knowing it had been different when Jaskier first wrote it, but it also made his heart lighter at the same time. That he had loved Jaskier well enough to change his song in such a way, that Jaskier believed in him so much.


	9. Chapter 9

They stayed sequestered in their room the rest of the day until dinner. Ciri knocked on their door a couple hours after they’d left her to nap and crept in looking a little brighter than they’d left her. Jaskier sat with her in front of the fire and started to teach her to play the lute. He was patient, never even slightly exasperated when her fingers were clumsy on his precious lute. Both parts of his heart were considerably cheered by the end of the lesson when it was time for the evening meal, and their lightness helped him as well.

Ciri did go rather quiet when they joined the others in the dining room and saw Lambert sitting there with his head down, tightly bound wrist in a sling across his chest. Jaskier’s scent took on the peppery edge of anger when his bard saw Yennefer there, although there was no change in his expression. Both reactions only reinforced the notion to take them away from the keep as soon as he could.

But Yennefer surprised all of them when she stood and inclined her head at both himself and Jaskier. “I owe you both an apology,” she said clearly. “My actions were poorly thought out, I should not have attempted to enchant you, Geralt. I should have paid better attention to what was in front of me and realized the true nature of you relationship. I had thought it was a matter of convenience and friendship, and I see now that it’s so much more. I promise, nothing like that will happen again.”

“Well, thank you,” Jaskier managed, anger wiped out by sheer astonishment. “I appreciate that.”

Geralt just nodded at her. “Yen,” he said simply. They had grown to be friends after he’d first brought her here. He hadn’t particularly wanted to lose that. As they took their seats, he heard Ciri whisper, “What did she mean, Jaskier?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. It’s private,” Jaskier whispered back. Ciri looked as though she wanted to protest but bit the words back and nodded instead. Across the table, Yennefer looked relieved for a moment before her face smoothed back into its bland mask. The meal proceeded, but it was probably one of the most uncomfortable meals he’d ever eaten. Ciri finished first, and the moment she was done, Yennefer whisked her away with a rather pointed look.

“I don’t think it’s wise to take Ciri away from the safety of Kaer Morhen,” Vesemir said once they were out of earshot. “I agree, Lambert was more than out of line. He has training of his own that he’ll be doing for the rest of the winter. But the keep is safest for the girl. Lambert wouldn’t remain here anyway, come spring.”

Geralt pushed his plate away and steepled his fingers in thought. “That is a point,” he acknowledged. Even he would not suggest that his trust in _Vesemir_ were anything less than absolute. “However, another point is Ciri herself. She mentioned that she had been planning to ask to accompany us out on the road when spring arrives. It would seem she’s getting restless.”

“Restless or not, I don’t think she’s ready to travel with you. She’s too young. She’s come a long way in her training, but she’s not ready for that.”

“Isn’t she?” Jaskier asked softly. “Honestly, I’ve seen her fight. Yes, I have even less training than she does, but I’ve been watching Geralt for years. Even I can tell she’s good. In practice. Doesn’t she need real world experience?”

Geralt frowned. He didn’t like the idea – of course he didn’t. But Jaskier wasn’t _wrong_. Training could only do so much. At some point, you had to put training to use. Had Ciri been a witcher trainee, she would already be accompanying a full witcher on hunts. “That’s a point,” he allowed reluctantly. “I don’t like it, but at some point, she needs real experience. I’d rather she stayed hidden and safe, but life rarely allows us what we _want_. She’s just stubborn enough to sneak out to try to prove herself on her own.”

“It’s not even just hunts that she needs experience with. She needs to experience the world, in all its aspects. She was insulated in Cintra – I know she would sneak out into the city and play with the kids anonymously,” Jaskier added. “That’s something. And I know she had a really shit time of it between the sacking and finding you. But that’s not the world. I’m also not sure how much experience she had at her grandmother’s side. From what I gather, Calanthe kept her rather sheltered, until the very end. She’s seen some of the backstabbing and power games of the high born, but, trust me, it was only a glimpse into a true cesspit.” He grimaced. “I’d rather she never know, but if she is to be queen, that’s not something we can hide from her forever.”

“So what are you proposing, that you and Geralt take her on a tour of the continent’s Courts?” Vesemir demanded.

“I’m not proposing anything. I’m pointing things out. I’m in full agreement with what I think we’re all feeling – if we could keep her safe and hidden from the world, I think we all would choose that for her. But it’s not realistic, and these are things that will need to be considered at some point. You’ve all been around longer than I have. You know the unkindness of the world – at least from your perspective. I was raised in a highborn house. I’ve spent extensive time at numerous Courts, both as a noble and a bard. I know the games, the backstabbing. She needs to learn it too, and learn to recognize a true friend from someone trying to play her, or she’ll be eaten alive when she takes her throne back.”

Geralt knew the other witchers were staring at Jaskier as much as he was. He hadn’t considered that aspect yet. It hadn’t occurred to him, with the need to keep her safe being foremost in his mind, that there were new threats to her once Nilfgaard was dealt with. “Fuck.”

Jaskier nodded ruefully. “Sorry, witcher-mine. There are going to be threats to her that she can’t just stab. I think she has at least some idea. Calanthe was _very_ good at playing the game. And, as much as I really, **really** hate to say it, I think Yennefer can teach her a lot. But she will have to experience it all at some point. Setting aside what happened today,” he nodded at Lambert, “I think the more important conversation should be about all of that. She’s getting restless. It can’t be put off indefinitely.”

“You might be right,” Vesemir said grudgingly. “But I hardly think just jumping on the road with you two is the answer.”

“I think we’re overlooking a rather obvious thing, here,” Eskel observed. “Yennefer. There isn’t much she would not do for Ciri. I think Ciri should remain here with Yennefer and Vesemir, as originally planned. But!” he held up a finger. “There’s no reason they can’t discretely portal somewhere to meet us, for a contract or visit, to start getting her toes wet.”

“Us,” Geralt corrected, nodding at Jaskier. “I have not made up my mind about Lambert.”

Eskel frowned at him. “And yet after your witch tried to enchant you to her will, you still allow her around Ciri? Both are grievous errors in judgement, Geralt. Why does she deserve another chance but Lambert doesn’t?”

“I didn’t say he didn’t, only that I hadn’t made up my mind. An enchantment like she tried is temporary. What he would have done to Jaskier would have been permanent. The two aren’t the same.”

“Because the target wasn’t the same. That’s the real difference.”

“Maybe so. The fact remains, he tried to harm someone innocent, someone with very little defense against him. If Jaskier were any slower at shifting, the outcome would have been very different. He took the chance that we both gave him, to treat Jaskier with the same basic respect that he would any other novice swordsman, and he spit on that and tried to pass it off as a test. That he was willing to admit to his true feelings…that’s hard, I know. I _have_ actually been there, on the outside looking in, wanting something you think is out of reach. But you _don’t_ try to _cripple_ someone because of it.”

Eskel drew breath to continue arguing, but Lambert laid a hand on his arm, finally looking up from his plate. “Enough, Eskel. Geralt is right. Words are one thing. Today I crossed a line. I don’t blame him for not trusting me. The witch gets another chance because the situations _were_ different. A temporary thing done by someone that, I think, he already trusts within only a narrow scope. He should have been able to trust me with _anyone_ , and I failed him in that. I failed myself, my training, my Path. If he is to trust me again, it will be because I have worked to earn it back. You can’t argue him into it.”

Eskel glared around but found no allies in his defense of Lambert – not even Lambert himself. He subsided, but Geralt doubted that it was truly the last he’d hear about it.

“The idea has merit,” Jaskier said, returning to an easier topic. “If Yennefer agrees, she can bring Ciri to us. She can observe, perhaps help with, contracts. If it’s one you think is safe enough, of course. We can take her to some of the bigger cities where we’d be less noticeable for her to see, well, life.” He suddenly brightened. “Ooh, maybe we can take her to a concert in Oxenfurt! She’d really enjoy that. Just not one of Marx’s. His are shit.”

“Perhaps you should put one on,” Geralt suggested, lightly teasing, willing to go along with lightening the mood.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if I couldn’t. My love, the concerts that I put on while a _student_ were incredibly popular. I made _very_ good coin. By the time I left after my year of teaching, they were turning people away from the concert hall for lack of room. I had, in fact, been corresponding with an old colleague of mine, planning another when I ran into Dahlia the first time. It’s ready to go, save a bit of practice time. But do we really want to announce to all and sundry exactly where I am, when it may well announce to those in the know where _you_ are too? I thought we were avoiding Nilfgaard’s notice.”

“On the other hand,” Vesemir said thoughtfully. “If such an event would really make people talk, it could be an ideal way to find out how seriously you’re being searched for. If they know to be looking for you, or whether they’re still trying to figure out who is helping Ciri. That could tell us how safe it would be for her to join you on the road. The typical dangers of traveling are bad enough. If Nilfgaard has finally learned of your connection to her, that is an entirely different matter. Bard, no bullshit; how widespread would word travel if you were to announce a concert?”

“How much lead time would we have? If I can get word to Magdelena ahead of time to begin production – practice for the orchestra, costumes, sets and such – and she is given a couple months, word will spread _very_ far. Oxenfurt will be in an uproar, but I don’t doubt that if given enough travel time, I could expect to draw in people from all over the continent.” He shrugged. “I’m one of the best at what I do – no bullshit. I could have my pick of permanent posts with royalty, nobility, almost anyone I chose.”

“Hold the fuck on,” Geralt snapped. “I am not okay with you being _bait_.” He glared at Vesemir for suggesting it. “They’ll send assassins, not an army. They won’t exactly announce their presence. What the fuck are you thinking?”

“They’ll want to capture, not kill,” Vesemir said, as though he were being reasonable. “And then we’ll know.”

“That is **not** better,” Geralt informed him, with, he thought, admirable restraint. “Jaskier is _not_ bait. He is not a spy. If he and I are being searched for, dangling him like a carrot is not the best way to find that out!”

Jaskier reached out and took his hand. “Love, the idea has merit. Now hold on,” he continued when Geralt drew breath to _thoroughly_ explain all the ways he was wrong. “If they’ve been searching for me, Oxenfurt is a natural place to look. I have friends there that we can ask – discretely – if anyone has been asking after my whereabouts. If the answer is no, we go ahead with the concert. _You_ can stick close and keep eyes and ears out for anyone too interested. If anything happens, we leave. Either way, we’ll know more.”

“This is madness. You would risk your life to throw a concert?”

“No, I would risk my life to get information on Nilfgaard’s movements. Geralt, love, we _need_ to know more before we risk taking Ciri anywhere. Besides,” he continued, probably thinking he was being logical. “Oxenfurt is a very large place. Very crowded. And I am very well known there. It’s not like someone could be looking for me without word getting around about it. And Magdelena hears _everything_. We’ll talk to her first. If someone’s been sniffing around, we’ll just leave. We can dye your hair and I can look like basically anyone, and we’ll be less noticeable traveling. Isn’t it worth at least going there and checking?”

“You, as Jaskier, have been out of the picture for over a year now. They may well think you’re dead and have not been looking for you, just me. If you start blaring your presence there, it could alert them that you’re still alive and _then_ they’d come,” he pointed out.

Jaskier opened his mouth but stopped and just stared at him. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Alright, Geralt. If you really think there’s too much risk with not enough reward, we won’t do it.” He took his hand back and went back to poking at what was left of his food.

Geralt turned to Vesemir. “I think we’re done here. Enjoy your evening.” He stood and held a hand out for his bard. Jaskier took it and let himself be led out back to their room. “What?” Geralt demanded when the door closed behind them. “You’re upset. Is putting on a concert really that important to you? Haven’t had your name on everyone’s tongue in too long?”

Hurt flashed over Jaskier’s face. “Oh, fuck you, Geralt. I was perfectly willing to change my whole identity to keep you and Ciri safe! This has nothing to do with me wanting to be famous! All I wanted to do was help – that’s it! Fuck, _you’re_ the one that suggested I do it – like a joke, naturally, because you can’t ever wrap your head around the part where I am actually really very good at what I do, that people could like my music that much, when you know _fuck all_ about music and art. So go ahead, make your jokes about my vocation – I’m used to it. But don’t you dare shit on the lengths I will go to in order to keep you and Ciri safe – I’d like to see _you_ jump into a woman’s body and be fine with it!”

Geralt felt his mouth drop open a bit with his shock. He snapped his mouth closed and cleared his throat. “I don’t doubt what you would do for me – us,” he corrected. “I just don’t understand why you’re so upset at not putting on the concert.”

Jaskier scrubbed his face with both hands. “Why the fuck do you think? It was something that I could actually do, and do well, that could help you with Ciri. And that may well be the only time your mentor has looked at me as something other than a nuisance, so yes, Geralt, I was in favor of it. It’s not lost on me, however, that the times you have said ‘no, that’s not a great idea’ and I’ve insisted on whatever it was anyway has turned out rather poorly – mostly for you. I agreed – I don’t see why you had to go and snarl at me like that! What more would you like from me?”

“I, well, I just…” Geralt sighed and looked away. “I don’t like it when you’re upset,” he mumbled. It was wholly inadequate. It had been an absolutely shit day, after a series of shit days. He was _not_ reacting well to anything, apparently. And, true to form, he’d started to fall into old, bad habits. “I’m sorry, I should not have said that about your fame. I swear I know better, Jas. I was pissed and then you were upset and I could smell it and I _hate_ when you smell like that.”

“So you thought you’d make me even more upset? Great plan, Geralt. Steller.” He put his hands on his hips. “When will I be enough? What will I need to do, Geralt. Please tell me. Shall I ask Yennefer to enchant me so that I am always agreeable to whatever you ask, never upset about anything ever again? I’m sure she could do it. Make it so that I’m happy to agree to everything you say, nice and obedient, with none of the inconvenient emotions that seem to bother you so much.”

“ **NO**. Jaskier, no, that’s not – of course I don’t want that! I love you as you are. I was a prick. I know I was a prick. I’m on edge – I’m worried about Ciri, I don’t like feeling like we aren’t entirely safe here thanks to one of my own, and all I could think about when Vesemir suggested that was how much more danger you would be in and you were just happily going along with it. I am struggling with the need to protect you both, fix everything, and I _can’t_ and – I fucked up.” Daringly, he held out a hand towards his lover. “I fucked up,” he repeated. “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier studied him for several heart stopping moments before stepping close, ignoring the hand he held out, and wrapped his arms around him. “It hurts,” he muttered into his neck. “When you mock me for my profession. It doesn’t…save lives, like yours. But it makes people happy. That’s not a bad thing. That’s not worthless. Fame only means I make a lot of people happy doing a thing I love. I was excited to think it could help protect Ciri, in a roundabout sort of way.”

“Jas, there is nothing wrong with you being a bard. I love your singing. You do make people happy – you make _me_ happy. I’m on edge and I lashed out, _again_ , at the last person that deserved it. I’m sorry,” he said again. He meant it. Of course he meant it. He was also painfully aware of how inadequate it was, when he had done the thing he had said he wouldn’t do again. There would _not_ ever be another incident like that again. Jaskier was in his arms this time, but how often could his bard be expected to put up with him failing like that? Which time would be the time too many? Geralt never wanted to find out.

Jaskier pulled back a little to meet his gaze. His eyes were a little damp and Geralt cursed himself all over again. “Remember what I said, back in Breyla?” he whispered.

Geralt cast his mind back. Their entire stay in Breyla was burned into his brain. He would remember every moment until the day he died. Jaskier had said an awful lot, as always, his bard tended towards the verbose. But he thought….”A kiss to make it better?” he said hesitantly. Jaskier nodded and tilted his head a little, offering up his lips. Geralt gave him his kiss, as slow and tender as he knew how to make it. Jaskier melted into him until Geralt was all that was holding him up, sighing into his mouth and making needy, urgent little noises.

Geralt swept him up, encouraging his legs around his waist as he carried him over to the bed. Once there, he stripped them both and pressed kisses into every last part of his bard, until Jaskier was covered in sweat and begging for him. Then, with fingers and tongue, he kissed him open until Jaskier was ready to take him and then joined their bodies and rocked inside of him until Jaskier wet both their stomachs with his spend. Only then did he let go enough to seek his own release and spill deep inside.

Jaskier made a sound of discontent when he left to get a cloth to clean them up a bit, but quieted when he returned to wipe down his belly and then just tossed the cloth across the room and wound back around him. Geralt held him close, carding his fingers through his chest hair and pressing the occasional kiss to his head. Jaskier’s fingers played over his hip and thigh, occasionally stopping to kneed at the werewolf scars knotted there. “Can we….” He started hesitantly.

“Can we what?” Geralt prompted when he trailed off.

“Can we just stay in tomorrow? Take the day, just for us? Is that selfish? That’s selfish,” he said quickly. “Forget I said it. Ciri will probably want to start training again, I know, and I shouldn’t slack off either.”

“It’s not selfish. Ciri will be fine with Yennefer. I think it’s a good idea. I would like a day of just us. We haven’t had that since we’ve been here, our attention has been too divided. Just us sounds perfect.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jaskier thoroughly enjoyed spending a quiet day in with his lover. He had been on edge for so long before the thing with Yennefer, and he had actually frightened Geralt when he’d run off…and then Lambert happened, and he knew full well that Geralt didn’t deal well with him being threatened. It was no wonder they had both reacted poorly over the concert idea. Save for a brief word with Ciri so the girl didn’t think things were terrible, they didn’t speak to or see anyone else in the keep for the whole day and night after their fight. They made love a few times, of course, but Jaskier thought the hours they spent just lying together, sometimes talking sometimes just being quiet with each other, were even more therapeutic.

When they finally emerged the following morning, Jaskier felt more grounded than he had in weeks. And there was a certain set to Geralt’s shoulders that said he felt much the same. Geralt headed off to discuss various means of gathering intelligence with Vesemir. Jaskier had a different destination in mind.

He found Lambert in the north tower, usually abandoned. He was just kneeling in the empty room at the very top, facing out a window but with his eyes closed. Jaskier recognized the pose and cleared his throat, bringing the man out of his meditation. “I apologize for interrupting, but I think it’s time we had a talk – just the two of us, no insults. Don’t you?”

Lambert eyed him a little warily. “I’m not sure that’s wise. Geralt would not be pleased to have us here with no one to guard your safety.”

“Do you intend to attack me?”

“No, of course not. I regret attempting to harm you during training. You have done nothing to earn such treatment. But I did try, and Geralt is not wrong to distrust me.”

“Well, between Geralt’s distrust and your own, I think I’ll save mine. There’s enough going around already.” Jaskier sat on the floor, legs crossed, and favored the other man with a serious look. “I don’t need you to like me, but I do need you to listen to me. I think I know you – better than you might imagine, really. You and Geralt share certain traits. All you witchers do, from the four I’ve now met. You’re all so tightly wound, constantly on guard, hiding what you feel. Eskel hides behind a mask of affability. You, and Vesemir, and even Geralt tend to hide it behind bad tempers. But not too bad, of course, you can’t show real rage because then people will be even more afraid of you. The idea of the emotionless witcher is so pervasive that even if you showed something besides grump, no one believes it. When all you’re allowed to show is bad temper, it becomes more than habit. It becomes more truth than disguise. The injustice of that has eaten away at you. Seeing Geralt with something else? People that he openly cares about, who openly care about him, laughing and loving in a way you’ve never gotten to, I don’t blame you for being jealous. But I don’t think this,” he waved a hand around the cold, barren room, “is the answer. You’re trying to strangle the jealousy out of yourself and it’s a losing prospect.”

“So what do you suggest I do?” Lambert challenged. “Allow myself to remain with such poor control of myself as I have shown of late?”

“Mmm, sort of. I’m not saying don’t meditate, don’t get a good grip on what you’re feeling. I’m saying don’t try to strangle the bits you don’t want. It won’t work, and I think you know that. I think you should focus on the things that make you _happy_. In all your long life, you have surely found things that you enjoy. Embrace those, Lambert. You do deserve to enjoy life, you know. Fuck what a bunch of petty, small minded shitheads have said to you. You deserve to enjoy life and find what happiness you can. Because I promise you, if you follow the path you’re treading right now, then the day you meet someone who could give you what Geralt and I have, you’ll be too walled off, too hollow inside to let it happen. Geralt almost was. Our path was not something out of the happy fairy stories in Ciri’s books. There were bumps and detours and veritable rock slides along the way.” He paused. “Once even an actual rock slide, it was dreadful, almost lost my lute to that one.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” Jaskier agreed. “It really is not. I was highborn, I think it’s been mentioned. I enjoyed many of the things I do now – music, and dancing, and good food and fun stories. None of those things were high on my parents’ list of what should be my priorities. I was supposed to be serious and dignified and advance the family’s power and reputation, including marriage to some powerful family that would increase _their_ politic power. It’s not the same, I know,” he said, when he could see Lambert drawing breath to argue. “I am very aware that I’m an unlikely to have survived what you and Geralt and the other witchers went through in your training and Trials. The point is that I _did_ notice that, while there seemed to be a certain satisfaction from all their schemes and power moves, there was no happiness. I chose not to live like that. I endured the beatings, the strap, the days and weeks on old bread and water whenever I transgressed. And when I went to University, I broke free and chose to live my life on my own terms, embracing the things that I enjoyed. And now I’m as happy as anyone could wish.”

“That’s not a path for a witcher.”

“Why not?” Jaskier shrugged. “Geralt has learned to embrace that which he enjoys. Good food, wine, me and his child. If it weren’t for Nilfgaard, I daresay he’d be blissfully happy. Come, what makes you happy? What things do you enjoy? Good food and wine are, I think, a given?”

Lambert rolled his eyes. “I don’t know anyone who enjoys _bad_ food, bard. You endure it, but you don’t enjoy it.”

“Alright, so learn to cook! Experiment with flavors, different dishes. What else do you enjoy? Dice, cards, music – okay, maybe not that one,” he corrected.

“I actually do happen to enjoy music. Not dancing music, but some types,” Lambert allowed grudgingly. “And a good game of cards has always been a favorite.”

“So learn to play music and keep a deck of cards on you. Even if you don’t play for money, it’s a wonderful way to pass the time and make friends.”

“You’re actually a bit mad, aren’t you? Of what use is music to a witcher?” Lambert demanded, completely ignoring the second part of what he’d said.

It was Jaskier’s turn to roll his eyes. “You like it. Learn to play. It’s use to a witcher, or anyone else for that matter, is enjoyment. Come, I’ll even give you your first lesson if you like,” he offered.

“On that fancy lute of yours? No thank you. I’m not overfond of the sound it makes.”

“So what instrument do you care for?” Lambert looked away with a grunt. “Fiddle? Drums? Flute? I’ll only keep asking until you tell me,” he warned.

“Oh for – fine! I like the harp, okay? Happy?” Lambert snapped.

Jaskier was taken aback slightly. He would definitely not have pegged the gruff, angry man as a lover of the delicate harp – but who was he to judge? The harp was a fine instrument. “Well then, I will teach you harp.”

“Just like that? And you’ll what, pull a harp out of your arse?”

“Just you don’t mention my arse again,” Jaskier warned. “You’ve no business with it. No, but I happen to know a witch that can portal. And if she’s not inclined to be obliging, it’s not all that far to Vespaden for a snow leopard. A trip I’m in need of anyway, since I’m down to my last par of trousers. Come along!” He hopped to his feet and stared until Lambert gave in, looking, frankly, a bit bewildered. They made one stop so that Jaskier could grab money and his cloak from the room, then went on to find Yennefer and Ciri working on spellcasting in the suite of rooms the sorceress had taken over. Both women looked astonished to see him enter with Lambert in tow. “Hello ladies, and how are we on this fine winter’s morn?” he said cheerfully.

“Rather looking forward to the moment Geralt finds you walking about with that one unescorted – you realize he’s going to pitch a fit after what happened the other day?” Yennefer pointed out, all amused condescension.

“He might, but that’s a problem for this afternoon. Right now, madam, we would like to request a portal to and from a decently sized city. One where I can obtain a new instrument or two, as well as some proper fitting trousers.” He looked down at his legs. “It’s my last pair, and frankly, I’m sick of cold ankles.”

“And you would trust me to take you? Why do I doubt that?”

“Oh, I’m not sure I actually trust you.” Jaskier flashed a smile that was all teeth, reminiscent of a leopard’s ‘smile’. “But frankly, this has been a long, tense winter. That needs to change, because I am sick of it. It’s a sad state of affairs when the actual child is the most mature person present. Now, are you able and willing to take us somewhere for a few essentials, or is this a bad time? I can certainly make it to Vespaden on my own if it isn’t convenient.”

Bemused, Yennefer simply nodded. “I have no objections. Ciri, you have the reading to get through. Why don’t you work on that until we get back?” She eyed the girl critically. “While we’re out, I’ll see about some new clothes for you as well. You’re growing like a weed. Jaskier, where would you like to go?”

Jaskier pursed his lips. “Oxenfurt would be my preference. Are either of you known there?” Both Yennefer and Lambert shook their heads. He concentrated for a moment and shifted to Arell. Her clothes fit a bit better, at least. “I don’t imagine we’ll be gone terribly long, sweeting. And I’ll bring back a few more books,” she winked.

“Thank you, Jaskier!”

Yennefer raised a hand and a moment later, a portal swirled into existence. When they stepped through, Jaskier found herself in an alley near the University itself. “Excellent! Thank you, madam witch, this is perfect. Let’s go shopping.” With a determined stride, she walked boldly out to the main street and turned left. There was a whole row of small cottages nestled up on the edge of the University’s land. Her cottage was at the end. Had she continued teaching, she would have been upgraded to something grander and closer to the heart of the University, but she’d never been bothered about that. And it was convenient enough now as it let her get to her door unseen and let them in. She gathered a couple sets of her regular clothing that she had stashed there a year ago, before heading over to see Dahlia. She also grabbed a spare lute. She hadn’t used it in years, but kept it well oiled whenever she passed through town, so it was more than suitable for Ciri to learn on.

Then, with Lambert and Yennefer following her like grumpy, confused ducklings, she led them to the market district. She began at her favorite instrument store. Their luthier was excellent, although they couldn’t produce a lute at quite the same quality as the one from the elves. But she was more interested in the travel harps on offer at present. She watched Lambert from the corner of her eye and noticed him paying attention to the lap harps. She found one made of a lovely golden wood that had a beautifully sweet sound when she plucked the strings. Ever so faintly, his eyes brightened.

The sound drew the shopkeeper and head luthier from the backroom. “I apologize, I didn’t hear you come in. I am Martin. I see you are interested in a lap harp today?”

“Harp, case, and strings,” she confirmed. While the other two perused the instruments on display, she got down to the business of haggling. Martin’s face brightened when it became clear she knew what she was talking about. The well cared for lute strapped to her back helped as well – it was his make, after all, though from twenty years prior. She got him down to a fair price and gladly handed over the gold pieces. Martin packed the harp up with care, including the oil and rag to keep the wood protected at no extra charge. She also purchased some spare strings for the lutes while she was there – no point wasting the trip when well made strings could be hard to come by.

Their next stop was for clothing. Yennefer handled buying for Ciri while Jaskier handled replacing her torn trousers and shirts. With a couple sets of her masculine performing clothing, she just needed new travel clothing in both her male and female sizes, and wasn’t too fussed about making sure they were well tailored. They hit a bookseller after that, and by the time they were done, Lambert was looking rather put out at playing packhorse for them, laden as he was with the parcels that Yennefer insisted he carry for them in spite of his broken wrist. In all fairness, he was still the strongest, physically, among them, even down a hand.

They made a stop at a bakery for some sweets, and then, though the coin she’d brought was getting a little low, stopped at a spice seller’s. Their food was fairly bland, though plentiful and rarely burnt. But a few spices sprinkled in would go a long way towards making meals more pleasant.

With her coin now basically gone, they wound their way through town in search of another discreet alley where Yennefer could portal them back home. Along the way, Jaskier spotted something on a noticeboard. “That arrogant, no talent, song stealing pox encrusted jackass!” she hissed. She ripped the poster down, glaring at the bright colors proclaiming that Valdo Marx was going to be putting on a new spring extravaganza, sure to be the highlight of the year! Amongst the songs listed in the lineup were the handful that he’d blatantly stolen from her in her student days. “May the gods grant that his shriveled little balls swell and explode!” She ripped the poster and spat on the brightly colored shreds. She turned to continue stomping after her companions and glared at the bemused looks both of them were giving her. “What?” she snapped.

“Not a friend?” Yennefer said mildly.

Jaskier took a deep breath and let it out. “No. No he is not.” She pasted a bland look on her face. “Shall we? It’s getting late,” she pointed out. Yennefer rolled her eyes but started walking again.

Lambert fell into step at her side. “So what did he do, that you would wish such a fate on him? I’ve heard you mention him in passing before.”

Jaskier gave him a sideways look. “He’s a thief. He routinely steals the songs of promising pupils that buy into his propaganda and want to ‘learn’ from him, and then attempts to take credit for all their works after they leave his tutelage. If any make a fuss, he’s got enough clout with his uncle, the Chancellor, to get them run out of the University. He’s a petty, small minded, talentless _fuck_ of a parasite, and that he hasn’t died of syphilis yet is a true pity.”

“So how many of yours did he get?”

“Five – all at once, because I was naïve but not stupid. I’ve heard children write better songs than anything he actually produces. Most of Oxenfurt has been waiting for the Chancellor to retire or die, but so far, the old bastard keeps hanging on.” They turned down an alley, out of sight, and walked to the end. She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “If anyone were to sell me out, I’d lay money on it being him. There’s not many in Oxenfurt with a grudge against me, but he’s never appreciated the fact that I call him out, and being my popularity and noble birth, the Chancellor didn’t actually do much besides scold me for it.”

“Sounds like a wonderful chap,” Lambert said dryly. “The whole normal life thing sounds so much fun.”

She shrugged as they stepped through the portal. “There are pros and cons to all ways of life. None are entirely perfect. Hello, Geralt,” she added calmly when she spotted her lover standing there, face completely blank.

He stalked forward and bodily inserted himself between her and Lambert. “Have you lost your senses?” he hissed at her.

“Not as of the last time I checked. Yennefer, would you like to take Ciri her things? I think I’ll be a little busy for a bit. Thank you,” she added. “I appreciate the portals. Lambert, I’ll see you later. We’ll begin after dinner.”

Lambert gave Geralt a wary look. “Her idea entirely, brother. And I didn’t touch a hair on her head.”

Jaskier rolled her eyes and hoisted her packages over her shoulder. “C’mon, witcher-mine. Let’s go to our room so you can shout at me in peace.” She led Geralt up to their room so she could start putting her new things away. “How was your discussion with Vesemir?” she tried.

“Don’t try to distract me, Jas. What were you thinking? Going off alone, with the two that have caused you the most harm since we’ve been here? And without even telling me! Do you have any idea how worried I was when Ciri mentioned that you’d gone, and who you’d gone with?” he demanded.

Jaskier dropped her new trousers and moved to wrap her arms around his waist. “Love, I’m sorry I worried you. But I think if you’re honest with yourself, you know perfectly well that Lambert isn’t about to try to hurt me again. He’s too ashamed of himself, his jealousy, and what he let it drive him to. It was never about me, really, and once he realized what he’d done, there was no more danger to me.”

“You didn’t _know_ that. You can’t know that.”

“I do because I know you, and none of you are that hard to read, once I finally pay attention. He and I had a long talk this morning. He’s miserable and lonely, Geralt. I don’t think he enjoys being a witcher, and he definitely doesn’t like how ostracized it’s made him over the years. He doesn’t deserve to spend his life miserable and alone. He was trying to meditate the jealousy away.”

“He needs to improve his mental discipline – that kind of loss of control –“

Jaskier covered his mouth with her hand. “I know that. But trying to just make it go away, or choke it down so that he can’t feel it anymore, that won’t work. He needs balance, Geralt. He needs something he can enjoy outside of being a witcher. If he can’t enjoy any part of life, he will always just be a miserable, angry person until the day he either dies or snaps completely. And if _that_ day comes, his death won’t be far behind. He’ll be beating himself up over what he did for the rest of his life. I know it may take you quite some time to forgive him and trust him again. But we couldn’t spend the rest of the winter as we were. Someone had to take steps to smooth things out. I’m just sorry I didn’t try it sooner, although I’m not sure it would have worked sooner, before he’d admitted to himself what his problem was. I would rather be his friend than the shitty, sniping thing we had going on before.”

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Somehow, I keep forgetting that you’re the one that tries to pet the monsters.”

“There really was no danger, witcher-mine. If nothing else, I think we can all agree that Ciri is a powerful motivator. We all love her and want to keep her safe and happy – even Lambert. Yennefer wasn’t going to try anything, and neither was Lambert, since Ciri knew we were all traveling together.” She patted his cheek. “Besides, I’m not the only one that would rather solve things by talking instead of fighting. I seem to recall you talking a certain elven king out of killing us – remember that? It’s how I got my lute, after all.”

Geralt sighed and finally wound his arms around her. “If my hair weren’t already white,” he grumbled.

“But it’s such a pretty white!” She slid her fingers into said white hair and scratched lightly at his scalp. He turned his head to kiss her wrist, lips lingering.

“I suppose it wasn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” he finally allowed. Then he frowned. “But you did smell angry when you got back. Care to share why?”

“Oh, that monumental ass, that pompous pilfering pox-ridden peacock Marx is putting on a concert to celebrate the arrival of spring! And he’s using my stolen songs to do it! I swear, if a gryphon shit on his head, I would laugh for _days_. The song would be sung from one of the continent to the other!” She started stomping around the room, putting her purchases away as she continued in the same vein, arms flailing periodically as she described all the ills she wished to befall the bastard. When everything was finally put away, she stomped over to the fire to throw a few more logs on, just to have something to do.

She squawked a bit when Geralt summarily picked her up and plopped her on his lap in the chair. “Fluff, you’ve hated the man ever since I’ve known you. You can’t tell me it’s just the stolen songs.”

She frowned down at her lap. “He’s a bad man, Geralt. Just. Rotten. Do you have any idea how many new students he’s taken on, stolen from, and deflowered before casting them aside? Even at his age, he prefers the very newest to University. Not just because they haven’t gotten his measure, but because he prefers them that young? He’s scum, and he gets away with it.” A growl rumbled in his chest. “No, he never got anything but songs from me, not for lack of trying. I suppose that’s one thing in my parents’ favor – I saw enough of that at court, being dragged along for all of their schemes, to spot _that_ a mile away.”

“Well then, I have some news that might cheer you up,” he offered. “Vesemir and I talked today. He convinced me that the concert is our best bet at discovering how much Nilfgaard knows. I’ll be with you the whole time, so if they send someone to take you, they’ll have to go through me. The size force they’d need to get through me would draw too much notice. They don’t control the land that far north, so Redania’s army would be waiting. If they made it through Temeria to begin with. So if you manage to publicize the concert and actually make it to the day of without incident, Yennefer can portal Ciri, Eskel, Vesemir, and I suppose Lambert in to attend.”

Jaskier stared at him, jaw dropped. “Are you serious right now?” she whispered. “I can a throw a concert for Ciri and utterly _crush_ Marx’s at the same time?” She stifled the glee welling up in her chest ruthlessly. “And you’re sure it’ll be safe. Because I know you, Geralt, you’ll be the one hurt first. I can crush Marx another time.”

“Well, we’re going to be keeping our ears open for any hint of anyone looking for either of us, but yes. Yes, you can put on your concert, crush Marx, and we’ll see if any Nilfgaardians come looking. How much time do you need to get the word out?”

“A few weeks. If Yennefer agrees to take me back to Oxenfurt, Mags can take care of that. I’ve got a couple songs to tweak a bit, and Lambert’s lessons to start – she’ll get the orchestra and back up singers practicing. She actually enjoys all those bits, so tedious but necessary, I’ll have to speak with the costumers, Mags doesn’t have the eye for that part that I do – seriously, this isn’t going to put you in extra danger?” she demanded. “You aren’t doing this just for me? Because it _can_ wait, Geralt.”

“It will be fine, Jas. Unless Nilfgaard _is_ looking, then we can’t stay but.”

Jaskier waved that off. “Of course. I’ll make sure Mags has an understudy that can sing my parts if we have to leave – they’ll be all my songs, so it will _still_ crush Marx. I can throw it in his stupid face another time if that happens. Oh, but you’re going to love this,” she promised. “Especially if you’ve never been to one of the big productions in Oxenfurt before.” She kissed him, trying to put all her excitement into the press of lips and tongue. Something definitely got through since she could feel his cock hardening beneath her bottom. Heat coiled in her belly, bringing that familiar ache, similar to but still different from arousal as a man. She grinned, breaking the kiss, and tugged at the hem of her shirt. Geralt’s hands molded to her breasts as soon as they were bared, thumbs sweeping over her nipples. “We haven’t played this way in a while,” she murmured. “Did you have anywhere you needed to be anytime soon?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.” She laughed in delight as his lips went to her neck.

A rather long time later, he wandered down with Lambert’s harp in his hands. He’d changed into clothing that fit properly, which was nice, although he’d left his silk performing clothes hanging in the wardrobe. Kaer Morhen wasn’t exactly the proper venue for those, and the sturdy, comfortable travel clothes would be more comfortable. Geralt was right behind him, occasionally brushing a hand over his lower back, seemingly reluctant to lose contact just yet.

Lambert and Eskel were sitting in the seats in front of the giant fireplace, talking quietly.

“So, we’ll get to see one of your big performances after all, eh, bard?” Eskel said rather cheerfully. “You’d best hope folks haven’t forgotten you, after all your talk about how popular they were.”

“Fuck off, Eskel,” Geralt grunted. Eskel just laughed.

Jaskier paid him no mind. Lambert was too busy giving the harp a faintly embarrassed look, and Jaskier rather suspected he was going to try to back out. Jaskier wasn’t going to give him a chance. “Come on, as promised. Here, sit down here with me. Time for your first lesson.” Very determined, he sat cross legged on the floor and tugged Lambert down to sit next to him. Geralt sprawled in the seat behind them, leg pressed against his back. “We’ve only got a couple weeks to get into it, so pay attention.”

“Lambert, what the hell? Are you learning to play an instrument? Is this – some kind of penance for the other day?” Eskel asked, bewildered.

Lambert looked at him, opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He seemed just as confused, somehow. Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, you twit. He needs a hobby, something fun. He likes harp music, therefore, he will learn to play the harp. Music is fun, people like music, and it’s honestly insulting that you think learning to play is some kind of punishment. If I wanted the man to suffer, I’d suggest that he train under Geralt for a while – _that_ would be punishment, he’d be nothing but a giant walking bruise! Now hush, the grown ups are talking,” he dismissed. Lambert gave his friend one last bewildered look, but was quick to focus when Jaskier began going over the seemingly simple little instrument.

Lambert was an attentive pupil and was soon plucking uncertainly at the strings. It could be played one handed, and fortunately the broken hand wasn’t his dominate one. There was, if one looked very, very closely, the faintest hint of tightening at the corners of his mouth that suggested a smile somewhere might some day come out. It was, in short, the softest expression that Jaskier had ever seen on the man.

It was also the most pleasant couple of hours that they had spent in each other’s company. The only sniping came from Eskel, who occasionally felt the need to tease one or the other of them, until even Geralt was sick of it and punched him in the arm hard enough to make him grunt.

Finally, he drew the first lesson to a close and sent Lambert off with the harp to practice as he wished in peace. Jaskier stretched, cracking his back, then sprawled back over Geralt’s legs. He found himself the center of attention, with literally everyone else in the keep watching him. “What?”

Ciri seemed a bit torn between a soft smile and a pout, while Vesemir looked confused and grumpy. Which was, admittedly, a change from his usual straight grump. Yennefer, as always, simply seemed slightly bored with everything. “Thank you for the books, Jaskier, but why are there history books in there too?” Ciri said once she had his attention.

“Because your brain can’t grow on a diet of bestiaries and fairy stories alone. There’s a whole wide world out there that you’ll need to know _something_ about, and while we figure out the logistics of taking you places, the histories are a good place to start.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Careful, princess. I was briefly a teacher at university – I can always make some formal lesson plans if you like, really get your education going,” he teased. “Now, I’ve also brought my student lute for you to practice on, if you’re so inclined. We can have another lesson after dinner.” She brightened up a lot more at that.

“Only for an hour,” Vesemir told them. “Then you’ll hit the books.”

“Yes, Vesemir,” Ciri agreed.

“On another note, did Geralt inform you that the concert is on?”

Jaskier beamed. “Yes, he did! Yennefer, if you’d be so kind as to portal me back to Oxenfurt tomorrow, I’ll speak with Magdelena and have her get things started. She’ll get the concert hall reserved for us, and get the notices posted. If we do it at the start of spring, that will give us several weeks for word to spread. I’ll have to join her in three or four weeks to help with practices and choreography, and we’ll see if there have been any people sniffing around looking for me or Geralt.”

“Will I be able to attend?” Ciri begged. “Please? I promise I’ll practice and study extra hard!”

“You should be doing that anyway,” Vesemir told her sternly. “But yes, **if** we haven’t found signs of Nilfgaard looking for Geralt or Jaskier by then. And only in disguise.”

“I actually have a few thoughts on the disguise bit,” Jaskier offered. “There are certain herbs that can be mixed and steeped to tint both hair and skin. If we start playing with them now, we should be able to get a mixture that will match your hair and skin tone to Yennefer’s. That way, you’d look like her younger sister being escorted. If Eskel or Lambert attend, you can pose as a small family. It might look pretty odd to most of my colleagues if I show up with a random family in tow, but not if you’re just a minor nobility visiting, invited after I played at your manor or something. That sort of thing happens all the time. You’ll get good seats and have people right next to you in case something happens.”

“I’m sure it will be fine! Oh, I’m so excited! I can’t wait!”

Jaskier laughed. “I’m afraid you’ll have to, sweeting. Assuming all goes smoothly, it will still take weeks to set up.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been to one of the large performances,” Yennefer observed. “I’ve heard there are some interesting magics on the great concert hall.”

“There are – old ones, too. Obviously I don’t know how they were done, but there are spells on the great hall to make sure the sound can be heard clearly and properly no matter how far back from the stage you sit. There’s also some interesting light effects, but the lights aren’t fire. But you’ll all be close to the front – there are side exits exclusive for the people in the reserved seating, which will make it easier for you to come and go.”

“This should be interesting,” was all Yennefer said.

Yennefer obliged him the next day and portaled him and Geralt right into the main room of his cottage. She helped herself to some of his wine and his comfy chair by the fireplace and dismissed them to run their errand. Magdelena was thrilled to see him, and to meet Geralt, and even more overjoyed when he told her the concert was a go. With some relish, she vowed to book a date as close to Marx’s concert as she could arrange, so that the comparison in crowd size would be starkly obvious.

She was also more than able to catch them up on the gossip circulating. Mostly that people had begun speculating on his own demise, seeing as no one had seen or heard from him in over a year, and no new songs could be attributed to him. She had also heard that Nilfgaard had consolidated their hold over Cintra and had begun eyeing neighboring countries, with Verden being the most likely candidate. Kerack and Brugge were mobilizing to reinforce Verden. She also warned that Geralt had a bounty on his head, which could make things tricky. But so far north, it didn’t seem like it would be too much of an issue just yet.

After setting things in motion for the concert, they returned to the keep for a couple more weeks. Jaskier kept busy training with Geralt and teaching Ciri and Lambert on their respective instruments. After a few tries, he perfected the mixture to tint Ciri’s hair and skin, and Yennefer was confident she could help the girl apply it so her distinctive fair hair and skin were concealed without the use of magic, which could be detected by other mages.

When they left again so Jaskier could work with Mags to get the concert perfected, Ciri gave him a long, drawn out hug and promised faithfully to practice her lute so that she might get to _perform_ at his next one. He didn’t have the heart to mention how unlikely that was. She would either still be in hiding or sitting on a throne – neither position lent itself to performing in a concert. Certainly not as one of the _backup_ performers.


	11. Chapter 11

Back in Oxenfurt, Jaskier spent long days in practice with both the musicians and the dancers – because he most certainly wasn’t going to half ass this! Not with Geralt and Ciri in attendance. The young man Mags had chosen to be his understudy was actually very good. Even better, he had thus far escaped spending any real time with Marx, so he and his style were unsullied.

Geralt spent his days combing the city, haunting taverns and lingering near to listen in by the brothels, keeping an almost literal ear to the ground for any hint of Nilfgaard moving to apprehend either of them. He was turning up nothing more than the same rumors they’d heard from Mags, though each day Jaskier returned and waited with baited breath for the verdict on whether they’d stay or run.

The night of Marx’s concert arrived, and Jaskier couldn’t resist dragging Geralt down to the great concert hall to watch people arrive. It was a decent crowd, maybe a couple hundred people, but very few seemed terribly excited. No doubt Marx would brag about the size and energy of the turnout, but to Jaskier’s practiced eye, they seemed to be attending simply because it was the first concert of the season and they were bored after the long winter.

Two days after Marx’s concert, Jaskier received Ciri and the rest via portal into his small cottage. They were all pretty dressed up, though not quite up to the standards that would be seen at a royal court. Still, the finery seemed to be making the resident witchers uncomfortable – off balance, perhaps, without their great swords strapped to their backs.

Jaskier beamed at them. “You look fantastic! Don’t worry, once the concert starts, you’ll forget all about wearing velvet instead of leather. Fiona, sweeting, you are radiant! Yennefer, lovely as always.” He eyed the tint job that she’d done on Ciri and grinned. “See? You easily pass as sisters. I am surprised to see all three of you, though. I was expecting either Eskel or Lambert?”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Like a group of hens with one chick – none of them wanted to stay behind in case trouble started.”

“Ah. Say no more. How will I be introducing you?”

“Merchant family, from Poviss. This is my sister Fiona, I am Tiana, my husband Bran,” she nodded at Eskel, “my brother Dieter,” she nodded at Lambert, “and our Uncle Victor. We’re your guests, of course, after we hosted you so charitably for so much of last year. Poviss is out of the way enough that we’re unlikely to encounter anyone who knows it well – at least anyone we’d bother to speak with.”

“Too right. Poviss folks tend to be rather insular. No one would buy if you were noble, they _never_ venture out. Merchant family, though, as a once in a lifetime treat where they return glad to be home and vowing never to leave again – believable. Alright! As you’re all ready, let’s head to the hall. I’ll get you all settled, and the next time you see me,” he winked, “will be on stage!”

~

Geralt made one last tour of the gossip halls the night of the concert, but though there were rumors of a murder in a noble family of another country, nothing stuck out at him as being suspicious. When he arrived at the big concert hall, he was just in time to meet Jaskier escorting the others inside. He snickered openly at his brother witchers, looking _extremely_ uncomfortable in their finery. He smoothed his own velvet jacket down his arms, then clapped Eskel on the back. “Relax,” he advised. “We’ve fallen in with a snootier crowd these days. This won’t be the last time this happens to you. You get numb after a while.”

“Yes, gods forbid you wear something that isn’t leather and is tailored to fit you properly,” Jaskier sniped. “Oh, the horror! The torture! The inhumanity!” He reached up to fix Geralt’s collar and took his own turn smoothing the velvet down his front. “At least I didn’t have to scrub selkiemore guts out of your hair first this time. And don’t frown so, _Dieter_ , there will be wine. No ale, but plenty of wine.” Lambert looked slightly mollified at that, although it didn’t appear to improve Vesemir’s outlook any.

Jaskier led them inside through the back door, as the front already had people lining up. He seated them in a boxed off section in front of the stage, which was currently concealed by heavy, thick curtains. It was notably more comfortable than the seating throughout the rest of the hall, as they had padded chairs rather than the unpadded wooden benches the rest of the sported. Jaskier left once they were seated, vanishing in back behind the curtains. There seemed to be rather a lot of magic around, as he almost needed to sneeze with the smell of it in the air.

“Spells to block or enhance sounds,” Yennefer murmured, leaning over slightly as a uniformed man approached bearing a tray with glasses and a wine skin. “The curtains muffle the sound from backstage, but the ‘decorative’ polished stones set every ten feet enhance the sound coming from the stage once the curtains lift. Old spells, set damn near into the bedrock.” She looked around a bit with professional interest. When they’d all been given a glass of wine and the server left, she added, “If this place burned down, it would cost a _fortune_ to replace the spells.”

“Please don’t burn down the concert hall, Yen. I would never hear the end of it.”

“Hmm.”

He tuned her out in favor of listening to Ciri’s excited chatter. She did well remembering everyone’s fake name for the evening, but could not contain her enthusiasm for the ornate decorations that seemed overdone and stifling to Geralt’s eye. She was almost vibrating with energy, and he was extremely grateful that all had gone well enough that they hadn’t had to cancel – he’d never seen her this honestly excited for anything before. After nearly an hour, though, even she ran out of observations and speculations on their surroundings and moved on to updating him on her studies and practice. Lambert went faintly pink around the ears when she mentioned they’d been practicing their instruments together and were looking forward to demonstrating their growing skill for Jaskier upon their return. Apparently Jaskier had left them sheet music to work through, and they had a duet to perform.

Geralt gave the man a long, steady look. He had been _very_ not happy that Jaskier had just blithely thrown himself into the man’s company, alone, without either himself or Eskel there to keep Lambert under control if he lost his temper again. But he had to admit, there was something softer, less angry about the man these days. At least, once he got over the bewilderment that was a familiar reaction to anyone on the receiving end of Jaskier’s attention. Geralt himself had spent years with that feeling. And Vesemir had reported that he’d been taking his retraining efforts very seriously, in addition to his new musical interest. Just a few weeks ago, he would have laid money on no one and nothing being able to get Lambert into formal clothing – but he was there, dressed in a finery he’d never have considered before, all to safeguard and please a young girl. And he hadn’t made a single mocking comment, either.

It was just so typical of Jaskier to befriend the man that had tried to cripple him, all for Geralt and Ciri’s sakes.

The doors opened to admit the crowd that had been gathering outside. Ciri turned to look, as did Vesemir. Hundreds of people poured in, bringing with them all the noise and smells that came with a large gathering. Geralt hid his wince as his sensitive ears were assaulted after the extended quiet, but he adjusted quickly. The remaining seats in their section filled as well, well dressed and with their noses in the air. In comparison, the nicer clothing they were all wearing seemed almost shabby.

“There’s so _many_ ,” Ciri whispered. “Jaskier will be pleased, I don’t think everyone will be able to fit!”

“How many attended that Marx fellow’s concert? Do you know?” Eskel asked. He was looking around a little more discretely, with eyes a lot more wary than Ciri’s.

“A couple hundred or so,” Geralt answered. There was a few moments of silence.

Then, “That’s it? Marx really is quite famous here,” Eskel said, truly astonished.

Yennefer snorted. “Why are you surprised? It’s mostly propaganda, Jaskier told you that. Did you honestly think he would brag about something like this, when we’d be in attendance and it could be so easily disproved?”

“It’s also been twenty years,” Eskel defended himself. “People forget!”

“Perhaps,” she allowed. “But I rather suspect this is more a case of people have been eating naught but old bread and water for years, and have suddenly been offered a true feast, created by master chefs.”

“Be quiet,” Geralt advised as the last few stragglers entered and shoved themselves into whatever bit of seat they could find. The lights in the seating area darkened. “It’s starting.”

The curtain rose slowly. On stage, lit by a clear, white light, stood Jaskier and Magdelena. He wore a tight, sleeveless tunic and leggings, all black, but with something sown through the fabric to make it glitter silver under the light. She wore a deep, dark red gown of some filmy fabric, that also glinted under the lights. Jaskier’s eyes and lips had been darkened for the occasion, making his eyes stand out with a piercing stare that landed right on Geralt.

Behind them, the stage was bigger than Geralt had expected. A couple dozen musicians, some with instruments that Geralt had never seen before, ranged in a wide half circle. Off to one side stood a piano and a drum set, for the moment unmanned.

Somehow, the sound of blowing wind moved through the room. Jaskier opened his mouth and began to sing slow and quiet.

_When you call to me asleep_ _  
Up the ragged cliffs I scramble  
A single thread hangs limply down  
And I breathe not now, not now  
And I find you all unwoven  
Trying desperately to sew  
I know the kindest thing  
Is to leave you alone_

Magdelena joined in, equally quietly, and Geralt found himself almost holding his breath as he listened to the words. Then there was the barest moment of pause before the music suddenly burst to life, Jaskier swinging the lute up and into his hands as the rest of the musicians also began to play, all in sync, perfectly timed. Beside him, Ciri gasped out loud, jumping in her seat. He tore his gaze from the stage for a moment and took in her shining eyes and flushed cheeks, mouth hanging open slightly in awe.

He felt much the same as she looked as Jaskier _moved_ , playing and singing and even dancing with the dancers that tumbled onto the stage from either side. Their costumes, in contrast to Jaskier and Magdelena, were all in bright, primary colors. They leapt and swirled and bent, dancing but not like any formal court dance Geralt had ever seen. It seemed a combination of the wilder country dances mixed with outright acrobatics.

The music ebbed and flowed, sometimes fierce, sometimes bright and bouncy, sometimes somber. Twice Jaskier abandoned his lute for another instrument – once for the drums on the side, a full body exercise as he flexed and danced between the different sized drums. And once for the piano, body swaying as he played and sang. Their voices alternated and almost danced, sometimes focused on one, then the other, then twinning, then a conversation in song. There was defiance, and pleading, and love and heartbreak, all in turns and sometimes mixed together.

When it finally drew to a close, Geralt came back to himself with a start. He had been utterly enthralled in the experience, watching his lover in his element and truly showcasing the passion that was at the very core of him. He looked around quickly – he’d been so caught up that anyone could have come up and slit his throat and he’d not have known until the steel sank into his flesh. But all was well – the audience was _screaming_ their approval, including Ciri. Eskel, Lambert, and Vesemir were openly gaping, though more contained than the girl. Yennefer, oddly, looked approving. When she saw him looking, she arched an eyebrow and leaned close to be heard over the cheering. “If I had to lose your affections, then I can only approve of losing them to someone with such talent – he’s the best of his generation, I bet. Possibly the best out of a couple generations.”

Geralt blinked at her and shook his head. He hadn’t been aware that it was some kind of competition, but. If it meant that she wouldn’t make mischief in the future, he wasn’t going to object.

Jaskier and Magdelena stayed on stage and bowed repeatedly, hands clasped, chests moving quickly as they did their best to catch their breath after an hour of performing both physically and vocally. The dancers and the rest of the musicians joined them at the front of the stage, where Jaskier and Magdelena took a couple minutes to applaud them along with the rest of the crowd. Finally, the curtain began to descend and everyone on stage stepped back so that it wouldn’t land on their heads. Jaskier caught his gaze again and jerked his head to the side. When Geralt looked, he found the uniformed server that had been refilling their wine all evening waiting. He nudged the others to get them moving and followed the man through the discrete side door he’d been using, through some winding hallways, and into a reasonably large room. Tables were set along the sides, groaning with food and drink. More uniformed servers were scurrying about, bringing more food, tweaking the arrangements of seating clustered around the edges, altering decorative vases of early flowers.

More people were trickling in, wealthy by the cut of their clothing, possibly highborn based on the tilts of their jawlines. Eskel, never shy, bellied up to the food tables and began to fill a plate. He had manners enough to bring a plate for Ciri and Yennefer, though apparently the rest of them would have to fend for themselves. After a quick kick to his shin, Geralt went and fetched more wine for himself and the other two witchers.

Yet more musicians filed in, but to Geralt’s relief, simply set up in the corner and began to play quiet, soothing music that was easy to tune out, with no singing to try to catch attention. When the room was about half full, maybe seventy or so, Jaskier and Magdelena finally entered. They had taken the time to clean up a little, retouch the cosmetics that they had worn, and finish catching their breaths. Everyone applauded as they entered, and it was almost a gauntlet for Jaskier as he moved through them, nodding and smiling and accepting his accolades.

He finally made it to them and snagged Geralt’s wine and downed it in a few long gulps. He handed back the empty cup with an apologetic look. “Thanks, love. Gods, this is the bit that I actually don’t like,” he sighed, though the smile on his face never faltered. “All the rich jackasses that expect us to fawn on them simply because they paid the higher price for the better seats. You don’t need to stay if you don’t want to – I just thought you might like to avail yourselves of the food.” He nodded at the plates the others were holding.

“I gotta admit, this was quite the concert. Good crowd,” Eskel approved. “Never seen anything like it.

“You’re not likely to again, at least not soon. Not many can pull off something of this scale, and definitely not with the creativity.” For once, no one raised any skeptical eyebrows over Jaskier’s words. After what they had all just had the pleasure of seeing, it sounded like the statement of fact that it was rather than just bragging.

Several people descended on them then, all making small talk with Jaskier and only barely polite acknowledgements of the rest of them once they were introduced. Geralt garnered rather more interest, with several repetitions of ‘well well, the White Wolf himself! Who would have thought?’ or some close variation. Geralt bore it all with a stoic look that tended to send the faint of heart drifting away as quickly as they arrived.

After about an hour, Vesemir herded the others out, citing the lateness of the hour and Ciri’s young age. They would wait back at Jaskier’s cottage so all of them could return to the keep together when Jaskier was finally done with his social obligations.

Geralt, however, remained at his side, a quiet black clad shadow. With Ciri, easily the youngest person that had been in the room gone, more than one person approached them with thinly veiled invitations to after hours entertainment in bedrooms. Geralt received his share, Jaskier rather more, and an intrepid few, possibly more observant or maybe just drunker, invited them both. All were declined, of course, Jaskier with grace, Geralt with a grunt and a glare, but he could easily see where a young Jaskier had developed his habit of falling into bed with married people, if this was typical behavior. It almost seemed expected of him. When he focused on Magdelena, he noted that she was also receiving invitations, though somewhat fewer in number. She was of an age with Jaskier, but being full human, actually looked it. Certainly lovely enough, but she didn’t present as a fresh faced youth anymore.

Geralt was eventually drawn into conversation with a minor noble who seemed to have a bit of sense in his head. Seemed some of the farmers who looked to him for protection had been losing sheep, and he wanted Geralt’s opinion on if it were an ordinary pack of wolves or something more difficult. From the little information he was able to share with any certainty, it was a toss up between wolves and a small warg pack, though Geralt assured him that if he put up a contract, he or one of his brother’s could deal with it either way. Rarely, their contracts ended up being something ordinary, and as long as it kept them neutral in human affairs, there was little objection to taking care of it regardless. Easy coin fed the belly the same as difficult coin.

The scent of Jaskier’s anger caught his attention. His head whipped around. Jaskier had drifted from his side during his conversation, and was halfway across the room. A man was bearing down on him, ornate mustache and beard waxed to a weird shine, hair perfectly coifed, and outrageously expensive clothing tailored to hide the paunch from too much rich food and not enough exercise. Jaskier’s shoulders were back, bare arms cocked and chin lifted, showing his own lean, healthy physique. Geralt left the man he’d been talking to without a backwards look and cut through the people in his way. He reached Jaskier’s side at the same time as the target of Jaskier’s ire.

“Julian! My goodness, look at you, you haven’t changed a bit. And can this be – the famous White Wolf?” The man ran his gaze up and down Geralt’s frame, the way he would eye up a horse he were considering.

The scent of anger increased, and Jaskier shifted to wind an arm around Geralt’s waist in a rare display of blatant possessiveness. That was usually Geralt’s issue. He had no problem going with it, though, and slid his hand around to rest on Jaskier’s hip. “Geralt, this is Valdo Marx,” Jaskier said coolly. “Marx, this is Geralt of Rivia. I studied rather briefly under him in my youth.”

“Indeed, Julian – oh, pardon, I forgot. You go by Jaskier now, don’t you? _Jaskier_ was one of my star pupils. We were rather disappointed when he took to the road, but it’s always so nice when he comes home to put on one of his little shows.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “There was no room to stand for late arrivals. Hardly a ‘little show’.”

For the barest instant, something frustrated and angry flashed in the man’s beady eyes before it was swiftly hidden beneath the smarm. “Indeed, well, it was a long winter. And we are just so impressed with your dedication. Why, to go ahead and perform under such circumstances shows such commitment!”

“What circumstances would those be?” Jaskier asked. “Mags and I had plenty of time to put it together and rehearse….”

“Oh my. Can it be? You haven’t heard? Oh, my dear Julian, I am so sorry. Uncle said he would speak with you, but you must have been so busy….”

There was a rising scent of pure glee rising from beneath the stink of scented oils that made Geralt want to preemptively punch the man in the throat. “What. Circumstances,” he growled, uncaring suddenly of any damage he might do to Jaskier’s reputation.

“We received word that your father was looking for you. Dear Julian, I’m afraid your siblings have been murdered, and your mother’s fate is rather unclear – the messenger couldn’t tell us if she is missing or also a victim.”

Geralt heard Jaskier’s heartbeat begin to race, and smelled the salt-scent of grief mingle with the fury, but though he could feel his lover lean into him a little more, the cool look on his face beneath the cosmetics didn’t change. “Is that so,” Jaskier said flatly. “How odd. No messenger came to my door.”

“No, he came to the University. My uncle, the Chancellor, spoke to him personally and promised to relay the message that you’ve been recalled home. And after such a lovely show. It will truly be a shame for the University to lose you to family obligations.”

“And why would the University lose me? I have no intentions of giving up my tenure – I will not inherit.”

Marx lost most of the fake sympathy and all of the smug glee. “But – but you must! You’re his only heir left!”

“Father married young. He is barely sixty – still of an age to take a young wife and get himself a new heir. And if not, I’ve a few cousins that would suit. I will go and do my duty as far as the funeral rites, but that is as much as I can promise. My life is dedicated elsewhere.”

“I – I see. Well, you must do as you feel is appropriate, certainly. I’ll just – let you return to your after party, so many familiar faces, lovely turnout for you. I’ll let my uncle know that I have relayed the message.”

Geralt’s free hand shot out and grabbed the man by the front of his stiff, gold threaded jacket. “Hold on. Just _when_ did this messenger supposedly arrive?” he demanded.

“This morning,” Marx answered, startled and rather pale.

“And you waited until after the performance and pretended Jaskier should have somehow already known, and told him in the middle of his celebration? Were you hoping to see him grieve in public or –“

“No, witcher-mine. He was hoping the shock and the audience would make me vow to renounce my tenure and career as a bard. And they would not have told me earlier. As talented as my young understudy is, had it gotten out that I myself would not be performing, the turnout would have been far smaller,” Jaskier explained, tone remarkably steady. “The university gets a percentage of tonight’s entrance fees. A percentage will pay for the backup musicians and dancers, and the rest is mine and Mags’ to split. The gods know Marx doesn’t draw a crowd even half this size – recycled, stolen songs only entertain for so long. It’s the biggest purse the university will have seen in a long time.”

Geralt twisted his hand, tightening the cloth around the man’s neck. “You…do not belong here. You are not fit to breathe the same air. Leave, before I make certain you can no longer do so,” he snarled. The stink of his fear overwhelmed what was left of the perfumed oils, and Marx all but ran from the room when Geralt released him.

Magdelena approached once he was gone, face awash in genuine sympathy. “I am so sorry, Jaskier. Let your witcher take you home. I’ll see to our guests, and make sure your payment is delivered to your cottage before midnight.” She squeezed his hand. “Bear up, love,” she added in a low tone, meant for their ears only. “None of these deserve to see your tears – they’d only use it for gossip, and they’ve fodder enough for that. I’ll handle things.”

“Thanks, Mags, you’re a gem,” Jaskier whispered back. Geralt nodded his thanks as well as she pointed him towards the exit. He hustled his lover out, stopping only to collect his clothing and cloak from a sympathetic servant on the way. When they stepped outside into the cold night air, Jaskier suddenly turned and clung to him, shivering. Geralt was a little out of his depths. Jaskier wasn’t sobbing, as Ciri had been prone to. He didn’t even like his family, really, yet he was undeniably grieving, or at least in shock. Geralt held him as tightly as he could without hurting him, but didn’t know what words to say to ease his lover’s turmoil.

“I don’t know what to do,” Jaskier mumbled into his neck. “I don’t – Geralt, what am I supposed to do? Who killed them? Was it all of them, even the children? I don’t….what am I supposed to do?”

Geralt was the only thing keeping him upright at that point. A fine tremor had started throughout his whole frame, and if he relaxed his arms, Jaskier would crumple to the ground. Geralt shifted his hold, sliding one arm under his lover’s ass and hoisting him up. Jaskier wrapped his legs around his waist and clung, but even as tightly as he held on, it did nothing to control the shaking. There was grief in his scent, but a rising hint of fear as well – which Geralt couldn’t blame him for. If the bulk of his family had indeed been killed, it could mean that he was himself on the list. With what little they knew, there was no way to tell, so he could offer little in the way of reassurance. All he could do in that moment was hold him until the storm of emotion eased.

It took some time. Though they were in an alley at the side of the building, he eventually heard the sounds of people leaving from the front. He was able to pick up a few whispers of gossip, almost exclusively about Jaskier’s family. There seemed to be a lot of criticism of Jaskier’s immediate refusal to renounce his life and take his position as heir. There was also quite a bit of criticism of Marx for the manner in which he’d delivered the message – Geralt hadn’t been the only one to pick up on his glee. Some few were talking about the performance and the uniqueness of the music, the dancing that went with it, and even praise for Jaskier’s obvious mastery of multiple instruments. Geralt took note of those bits to share with Jaskier later, when he was in a frame of mind that could appreciate it.

Eventually, long after the last guest had trickled away and the street had gone as silent as any city street ever did, the shaking finally eased away, leaving Jaskier limp and exhausted in his arms. Geralt pulled the hood of his cloak up to hide his ravaged face – there had been no tears, but with the way he’d pressed his face to Geralt’s neck and shoulder, the cosmetics were smeared – and began walking back to the cottage. He was able to avoid the few people still out so late and got back unmolested.

Lambert opened the door when they arrived, face actually creased with concern. Inside, Geralt could see Ciri curled up asleep in front of the fire, while the other adults were arranged around the small living area with varying degrees of patience. All eyes widened upon seeing him _carrying_ Jaskier, and whatever annoyance their late arrival had generated vanished.

“What happened?” Vesemir demanded instantly. Geralt shushed him and jerked his head towards the bedroom with a pointed glance at the sleeping girl. He settled on the bed and swapped the cloak for the blankets, tucking them around his lover until only his face showed, eyes mere glassy slits in his face peering out. Once Jaskier was as secure and warm as he could make him with company present, he turned to address the others. “I had heard a rumor in the last couple of days, of a noble family in a neighboring country having been killed. Tonight, that pompous little fuck Marx crashed the party after you all left to congratulate him on his success under such tragic circumstances.” The fury in his voice told everyone present very clearly what he thought of what had happened and the callous prick who’d done it. “A messenger looking for Jaskier was sent to the University, arrived early today. Jaskier’s siblings, their spouses, and possibly their mother were murdered. We don’t know anything more than that.” He carded his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, a bit gritty and dirty from having sweat so much on stage, but the motion seemed to be calming, and Jaskier’s eyes closed all the way. “There were children, apparently. I only met his mother, none of the rest, so I don’t know how many.”

They all grew grim at the news. Yennefer vanished back into the main room and returned with a glass of warmed wine. She knelt beside them and fished one of Jaskier’s hands out to give him. Jaskier cracked his eyes open again. He didn’t say anything, but he did bring the glass to his lips and begin to sip.

“Why would that bastard tell him like that, in public?” Eskel wondered.

“A power play in an effort to use peer pressure to get Jaskier to resign, apparently. They knew all day and didn’t tell him – the university gets a cut of the profits from the day, so they didn’t want to risk him canceling or using the backup singer they had in place.” Geralt studied his lover’s face thoughtfully for a few moments. “I think, when this has been dealt with, I may come back and beat that fuck into a broken heap.”

Whether it was the words, the wine, or the combination, something seemed to rouse Jaskier a bit more. He straightened, although he stayed pressed against Geralt in his cocoon, and blinked around at everyone as though just then noticing them. “I’ll have to return to Kerack, speak with my father.” His voice cracked a little on the last word and he cleared his throat. “There will be funerals – might already have been, depending on when it actually happened. But either way, I have to formally renounce my claim to the title and lands so father can name another heir. Or remarry, if mother is…well.”

Vesemir nodded slowly. “That may be, but if this was Nilfgaard attempting to draw you out somewhere less public, it could be extremely dangerous.”

“That would be some extreme overkill – shit. That would be _extreme_ if it was,” Eskel observed. “All of them? One death would do.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Jaskier disagreed. “Not if they investigated before they did anything. I was all but disowned before this. Other than the brief stop to ask mother about my true bloodline, I hadn’t been back in half a decade. I would not have returned for any one funeral – I was not close to _any_ of them. It’s highly unlikely they would have sent word of just one death to begin with.” He downed the last of the wine in one gulp and then let his head fall to the side to rest against Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt tucked his nose into his hair and just breathed. From various things Jaskier had said over the years, he had known Jaskier didn’t care for his family. He’d learned even more after Jaskier told him about the shapeshifting. None of it had been positive. The only pleasant relationship Jaskier had experienced had been with his grandmother, who had died when he’d been twelve. His siblings had bullied him mercilessly, and relished being able to tell their father of Jaskier’s many ‘infractions’ – reading the wrong books, singing, crimes of that nature, which had all earned his lover a session with the strap, a wide leather affair, used on his back and backside through his clothes, so that it wouldn’t break the skin and leave scars. His leaving for University had been something he’d had to sell his parents on, spinning it as him taking courses in history and economics rather than music, or they would not have permitted him to leave.

He hoped Jaskier’s grandmother, in whatever life came after, was happy. She had been the making of his bard, the kind touch that had kept him from being completely broken by his family’s treatment. Without her, he thought Jaskier may well have become just a sad, broken shadow, but her early shielding of him where she could, her unrestrained affection, had allowed his stubborn but kind core to strengthen until he could bear the treatment until he was able to escape it.

He couldn’t pretend to quite understand Jaskier’s grief under the circumstances, though it was obvious it was real enough. Geralt could not have mourned anyone who had treated him in such a fashion so systematically, but it was probably linked to the same part of himself that let Jaskier reach out to someone who had tried to cripple him and make him a friend. “ **We** ,” he stressed, “will go and investigate. You will do what you need to in order to renounce the title, and while we are there, we will see what we can find out about the deaths.”

Jaskier gave him a grateful look, although why he would imagine that Geralt would ever let him go back there alone, he could not guess.

“Alright,” Vesemir allowed. “We’ll take Ciri back to the keep. What do you want us to tell her about what happened?”

“Only that there was a death in his family and that there are formalities that he must see to. Until we know the cause, I see no reason to worry her unduly,” Geralt decided. “Yen, we’ll need to go back to pack for travel and collect the horses. I don’t want anyone to question how quickly we were able to travel there if we portal right in – the less that is known about what we’re able to do, the better.”

A knock at the outer door made everyone tense up. Geralt settled Jaskier on the bed with a light kiss to his forehead, then went to answer it. He opened the door to see Magdelena, cosmetics gone, costume exchanged for a comfortable gown of cotton and wool. She held a fat purse in her hands and handed it over. “How is he?” she asked quietly, though she didn’t attempt to peek inside past his bulk.

“In shock. We’ll be closing up and leaving in the morning,” he added. “And it will be some time before we ever return. The behavior of those that knew of the message is…displeasing, to me. It is best that I not lay eyes on them for quite some time.”

She nodded soberly. “You are not the only one displeased. The chancellor has almost unlimited power in the university, but this.” She scowled. “There were many there tonight with a lot of influence. The talent difference between Marx and Jaskier is obvious even to a child. This abuse of that power did not go unnoticed. Between them, Jaskier is far more valuable. If he even hinted at teaching another course, enrollment would go through the roof. When next you _do_ return, you may find that there’s been a change in leadership.” Her gaze hardened. “I know I shall certainly be lobbying for it. Line were crossed. It cannot be allowed to stand.”

“Do as you need to do. If it becomes up to me, I will simply remove their heads and leave the rest of you to sort out a replacement. Thank you, for bringing this,” he added, hefting the purse. “Jaskier will be relieved that we don’t need to wait.”

“Of course. Take care of him, witcher – not that I’ve any doubt that you’ll do so. He’s so much happier and more confident, since he’s met you.” She laid a hand on his arm for a quick squeeze before she turned and walked off into the night.

He closed and locked the door, paused to check that Ciri was still sleeping peacefully, then rejoined the others in the bedroom. He held up the purse in explanation.

“Melitele’s tits, that’s a lot,” Eskel swore, momentarily diverted.

“It was a good show,” Jaskier agreed wanly. He reached for it and Geralt handed it over easily. He was a little bemused when Jaskier fished a handful of crowns out to shove into Geralt’s purse, then handed the rest to Vesemir. “Hang onto that, use what you need for Ciri. The way she can plow through books, and fast as she’s growing, you might have to resupply her before we get back. I don’t.” He swallowed. “I don’t know how long this will take. Kerack funeral rites can last for weeks. And the gods only know how long we’ll need to figure out who killed them or why. My father had his own enemies. He’s been trying his hand at dynasty building, and that sort of thing can make folk nervous. My eldest brother was not well loved either – really, none of them were. It’s well known in the Kerack court that a favor from the Pankratz family comes at a cost. Perhaps they tried to levy too high a price for something.”

Geralt hummed low in his chest, taking that in. There were plenty of possibilities, more than he’d first thought, but speculation at this point was largely useless. They didn’t even have a true body count, only a message of death with no names or numbers. If they had been able to question the messenger, perhaps that would have yielded more, but he doubted the messenger were still in Oxenfurt to be questioned. The men in that profession were paid by the message, and sitting around waiting to be questioned was time better spent on the road. “We’ll pack our things tonight and return to the keep. In the morning, we’ll pack for travel and Yennefer can portal us to outside the city. We’ll leave from there. Yen, is there a way we can contact each other in an emergency? I dislike being out of reach more now than ever.”

Yennefer pursed her lips for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “I will provide you with a Xenovox. Try not to break it, they’re a bitch to create.”

He nodded. “Thank you,” he said simply. He pressed another kiss to Jaskier’s hair. “I’ll pack, and then we’ll return.” Jaskier nodded and stayed put as Geralt wished. Geralt packed as swiftly as he ever had, unwilling to wait any longer before getting Jaskier to their bedchamber, at least for a few hours, for some true privacy. When he’d finished, Lambert banked the fire while Eskel gently lifted Ciri without waking her. They all walked through the portal Yennefer created, Jaskier still leaning heavily on Geralt.

Ciri stirred, the sensation of the portal drawing her from her sleep, but she settled quickly enough at Eskel’s reassurance. He took her up to her bed as Geralt led Jaskier to theirs.

Once he had their door shut behind them, he swiftly started the fire with _igni_ , and threw extra wood on it. He wanted the room to heat as quickly as possible. A smaller blast of _igni_ warmed the basin of water he poured from the bucket so he could dip a cloth in and start washing the smeared cosmetics from Jaskier’s face. Jaskier stared up at him passively, tilting his head as he was bade, but making no comment or move to take over the task himself. That task done, he moved on to stripping the costume, probably extremely expensive, from his lover’s frame. He stripped himself with much less care, then carried Jaskier to the bed. With the furs wrapped around them both, the bed warmed quickly. He lay half on top of his bard, both literally and figuratively sheltering him from the world. He didn’t know if any of it was helping, but Jaskier had buried his face in his neck, so he figured it couldn’t be hurting.

Sleep did not come for either of them. They lay together as the blazing fire warmed the room, until the space within the furs was humid and scented with their sweat. Finally, Jaskier stirred and shifted his head away to stare up at the ceiling. “I don’t understand why I’m upset,” he observed. His voice was calm, almost clinical, but the scent of his grief and his fear was still strong. He wasn’t as detached as he sounded.

Geralt swept a soothing hand down his side, ending with a possessive grip on his hip. “Nor do I,” he admitted freely. “Had I known many of things they had done to you when we first went, I think it would have ended very differently.” He let his lips trail along his temple to his cheek, not to rouse but just to connect. “I think – I think it’s the same as what you did with Lambert. You made a friend of a man who had tried to cripple you.”

“He was sorry though,” Jaskier argued. “If he weren’t, I would not have gone near him. I do not enjoy pain, and prefer my limbs intact.”

“You gave him the chance to be sorry, to do better. If any of your siblings, or either of your parents had ever said they were sorry, would you have given them another chance?”

Jaskier met his gaze and bit his lip. “It’s stupid,” he whispered. “It’s so stupid, but. I _did_. Once. It’s why I went home, not the last time with my mother, but before that. My sister wrote to me, said she missed me, regretted our childhood. I thought – I truly thought maybe just _one_ of them might actually care. But it was just a ploy to get me to return, as father had found a young woman to marry me to, that would increase his power at court.”

“Because your heart is bigger than their emptiness,” Geralt told him. “You can find something in almost anyone to love. It’s caused you heartbreak over the years, but it’s a gift that I am forever grateful for. It took me twenty years, but you taught me how to love. I don’t know if you’re grieving for them, or for the fact that there will be no more chances for them to change. But you’re allowed to grieve either way, and I do not blame you think less of you for it.”

Jaskier’s face crumpled then, tears welling and spilling from his eyes as though he’d needed permission to finally let them out. He cried silently, soaking Geralt’s neck and shoulder, breath occasionally hitching. Geralt held him, and rocked a little, and swept his hand up and down his back to remind him that he was there, it was okay, he wasn’t going to leave. When the storm passed, Jaskier reached for a different kind of touch, and Geralt gladly gave that too, dulling the scent of grief with the scent of their passion. It was a slow joining, a gentle, inexorable swell to completion that left them both sated and limp. Jaskier finally fell asleep, though it wasn’t as deep as Geralt could have wished. He allowed himself to sleep as well, though lightly. He would not sleep deeply until this was all over and he knew Jaskier was away and _safe_ from whatever force had slaughtered most of his family.

In the morning, they packed together for the trip. Ciri saw them off, awake and informed of the death, though not the extent or mysterious circumstances. Yennefer pressed a small, ornate box into his hands, instructed him briefly in its use, then opened a portal. Roach, as ever, was a calm, steady presence. Though it had been a long winter, with less exercise than they’d been used to, even Rascal was subdued as they mounted, seeming attuned enough to his rider to know now was not the time for his usual lively antics. Together, they entered the portal and arrived on the road just south of Oxenfurt, deserted at the early hour. They found the ferry that would take them across the Pontar river into Temeria, and from there, it was but a relatively short ride to Kerack – and answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hard at work on the sequel!


End file.
